


Lost, Found, and Temporarily Misplaced

by ContreParry



Category: The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: Adventure, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Gen, M/M, Professor Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani, Restorative Archaeology, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-01
Updated: 2021-02-01
Packaged: 2021-03-10 05:47:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 67,332
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27809338
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ContreParry/pseuds/ContreParry
Summary: Dr. Yusuf al-Kaysani, Joe to his friends, is an art historian and archaeologist who is passionate about the repatriation of art and artifacts. When the system gets in the way Joe is more than happy to liberate artifacts from their glass cases, even if some of his jobs don’t go as smoothly as others. But when he stumbles across a statue with mysterious origins in Malta, can Joe handle the paths his search for truth and restorative archaeology will take him down?
Relationships: Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova
Comments: 58
Kudos: 207





	1. Chapter 1

Dr. Yusuf al-Kaysani, Joe to his friends, considered himself to be a reasonable man. Patience was not one of his natural virtues, true, but he made up for his impulsive nature through careful planning, intense focus, and reminding himself, constantly, that good things came to those who waited. See? Reasonable. But this? This wore his hard-fought for patience down to the thinness of spider silk.

“It’s not that bad, Joe, really,” Booker said in a voice that was almost sympathetic. “We wait a day, so what?”

“Booker, I’m giving a talk at a conference tomorrow, and I’ve got to be back in London before Monday. We can’t afford any delays!” Joe exclaimed, and he threw himself out of the deep seat of the faux leather armchair he was reclining in to pace in front of the wardrobe, half filled with spare hotel bed linens and empty hangers. He hadn’t even had time to unpack his small suitcase before Booker burst in with cheap takeout and bad news- the rain pushed their plans back by one day. At least. The upcoming forecast didn’t look promising either. Liverpool was always a little soggy, but the torrential spring downpour hadn’t let up for the past week! Booker deposited the food on the table, flopped down on the hotel bed, and turned on the television to the latest football match- Chelsea versus Leeds United. At least the man had the decency to remove his shoes at the door.

Joe inhaled slowly, filling his lungs with air and holding it until they started to burn. Then he slowly exhaled counting to ten in his head. It was just the stress getting to him, Joe told himself. Between this and his presentation, Joe was a little tense. He could talk about Al-Andalusian armor and weaponry all day, all week if he wanted to, but cutting it down to an hour long talk with time for questions was taxing to say the least. He was an art historian and archeologist first. Public speaking did not come naturally to him, as much as he loved his chosen fields. But public speaking was part of the job, and Joe liked sharing his knowledge and passion for art and what it meant to people. All people. Art was powerful. Art was vital. Art needed to be treasured. Art needed to belong to the people, its people. Joe was happy to provide that link between the people and art, be it through his classes, his papers, his field research, his lectures, or the other business he did.

“Sorry. Not your fault,” Joe sighed. “Damn this rain, eh?” He rifled through the flimsy plastic bag and pulled out Styrofoam and paper containers- and two round plastic containers full of egg drop soup. Joe smiled. Despite the snarky comments and ennui that sat heavily on his stooped shoulders, Booker still found enough charity in his weary soul to bring him soup on a rainy day.

“You’re telling me,” Booker snorted. “It’s hardly a picnic on my end, you know. And wet roof tiles are so much more dangerous.”

“Bane of my existence,” Joe agreed. “Sesame chicken or chicken with snow peas?”

“Snow peas, but only because you’ll have lots of work to make up for tomorrow night and I know the sesame’s your favorite,” Booker replied. “Got some steamed dumplings if you want some.”

“Ah, Sebastian, you are a man after my own heart,” Joe said, and he sat on the other bed with his takeout and proceeded to watch footie, gleefully cheering for Leeds purely to antagonize Booker (the brother of his heart, truly). And when food was eaten and the game over (Chelsea won, but Joe couldn’t win everything), Booker set his feet on the carpeted floor and looked over at Joe with an expression that could almost be classified as stern.

“So. Good news. There’s been a mysterious string of mislaid tools and missing equipment at the museum. So that new security system won’t be installed until next week. And the security is light as it is. Too many budget cuts, not enough donations?” he suggested, and he pulled out a tightly folded up piece of paper and spread it out on his thigh, pressing the wrinkles out with a practiced motion.

“Budget cuts,” Joe agreed. “And the bad news?”

“The rain. Makes the roof entry and exit riskier,” Booker replied. “Andy’s going to be at your talk tomorrow.” The seemingly sudden change in topic would have sounded strange in any other context, but Joe knew exactly where Booker was headed with this conversation. Joe’s hackles rose reflexively as he automatically moved to defend one of his oldest friends. One of their oldest friends.

“She sometimes shows up to these things. She _does_ have an interest in history and weaponry,” Joe said pointedly. Andromache “call me Andy or else” came from Old Money and Old Academia, and while she pursued a different career from her lauded ancestors she maintained an interest in the intertwined worlds of art, history, and archeology. It wasn’t a surprise that she’d show her face at a history conference in Liverpool to listen to the talks. That was just typical Andy.

“Your graduate student is going to be there as well, I presume,” Booker added, and ah. That was where the problem lay. Joe groaned and launched himself off his bed to grab at his phone, which was charging over on the other side of the hotel room. He scanned through his schedule, his emails, and tried to confirm- yes. There was Nile’s text (“See you tomorrow, Joe! Can’t wait for the lecture!”) and Andy’s missed call. The voicemail probably said something like “Hey Joe, in town for your lecture, wanna catch up? Argue art and philosophy?” Joe sighed and set his phone back down on the dresser.

“You know our schedules better than we do,” Joe remarked absently. “And Nile’s a doctoral candidate, by the way.”

“Thesis already? Impressive,” Booker commented, and Joe felt himself puff up with pride. He had many students come and go under his mentorship, but Nile Freeman was one-of-a-kind. Special. Brilliant in a thousand ways, maybe more.

“She’s defending soon. And she’ll pass, of course. The editing and self-doubt are the hardest parts,” Joe replied. “Going to miss having her around campus.” London would be a little duller without Nile Freeman’s bright smile gracing his office and lecture halls.

“You’re not going to miss how insightful and observant she is, though,” Booker was quick to point out, and Joe felt another sigh building up in his body. Booker wasn’t wrong. Nile Freeman was brilliant in a thousand ways, maybe more, and she knew that her mild mannered doctorate advisor, mentor, and friend was Up To Something. And, because she was Nile and they were friends, she wanted to know exactly what business he was tangled up in. Joe didn’t want to bring her into his business with Booker and Andy. Not because she wasn’t capable, or that she’d be a danger to their operations, but because- well, the less she knew the better.

“She’ll find out eventually, you know,” Booker said sagely, running his hand through his dirty blond hair and sweeping it out of his narrow face. “She’s smart. Observant. She clearly knows that I’m… shady.”

“Nile thinks you do art restoration and that you _might_ have done some counterfeiting and forgery in the past,” Joe automatically replied. He remembered that day Nile walked into his office hours with a file under her arm and a grim look on her face.

(“Dr. al-Kaysani? There’s a problem. That guy who was in your office? Mr. le Livre? He might… oof, this is going to sound crazy but hear me out? Please?” Nile sounded both stern and nervous, and Joe immediately motioned for her to shut the door behind her and take a seat.

“Dr. al-Kaysani? Must be serious, Nile. Of course I’ll listen.” Joe waited patiently for Nile to speak, but Nile merely set the folder down on the one clear spot on his messy desk and opened it.

“I think Mr. le Livre works in… forgeries. And that he might try to scam you.”)

“She isn’t wrong,” Booker said. “She just doesn’t know we work together, eh?”

“She knows that we’re involved somehow. For a while she thought it was a doomed romance. She tried to talk me out of it,” Joe laughed at the horrified expression that flashed across Booker’s face.

“I love you, Joe, but no. Not a chance,” Booker wrinkled his nose in exaggerated disgust. “I would classify it as incest at this point.”

“And I’m not a home wrecker,” Joe said. “Can you imagine the drama a sordid affair with me would cause?”

“She can’t meet Andy,” Booker added quickly. “Andy’s going to take one look and adopt her, and then we’ll have to deal with that.” Booker was right , of course. Andy had done much the same to them, picking them out of their respective haunts (worn out grad student at the coffee shop, exhausted forger at the end of his rope drinking himself to death in a bar) and helping them out in her own way (friendship, moral support, a couch to sleep on when necessary). And they’d done much the same for her whenever she needed it, especially after her disastrous divorce two years ago. Andy would pick Nile up, bring her into their merry fold, and that would be a bad idea. Catastrophic, even.

“They’d like each other. And Nile likes you just fine, you know. She hated the idea that you might try to pull a fast one on me,” Joe explained. “She’s got a strong moral compass.”

“Which is why she can’t be involved,” Booker argued.

“I don’t disagree with your conclusion, but I’d like to point out that I said _moral_ , not _legal_. We all know the law is flawed. Nile would understand,” Joe said. Booker rolled his eyes and flopped back on the bed, paper fluttering to the floor.

“Optimist,” he accused, and Joe shrugged.

“Guilty. But really. Her thesis is all about connecting the common people to art and vice versa. Nile gets it. She would understand _why_ we do this,” Joe explained. “I don’t want her involved, though. She’s too young. Has a bright career ahead of her. If we’re ever caught…”

“Scandal of the century,” Booker muttered. “I understand completely. So we’re in agreement?”

“Absolutely. They can’t meet up. Andy will poach her and it could ruin Nile’s very promising career in advocacy and art history,” Joe said firmly. “So keep Andy distracted. I’ll keep Nile busy- I’ll need all the help I can get for this lecture, anyways.”

“Did you lose your notes again?” Booker teased, and Joe gasped in mock indignation.

“That was one time!” Joe insisted, which coaxed a laugh out of Booker.

“Brussels, Chicago, São Paulo, Madrid, Kyoto…” Booker listed cities off, and Joe threw a pillow at him, which smacked him square in the face. Booker batted it off like a cat played with yarn and sat up again. He bent down to retrieve the paper off the floor- a map of the local museum. Joe recognized the floor plan he had been studying for the past two months.

“Joe, you are incredibly disorganized. You are the archetypal absent-minded professor,” Booker insisted. “Now come here, we’re going over the floorplan again. The roof will look completely different in the rain. If it’s still raining tomorrow night.”

“Really, Booker. You can do the retrieval if you’re so worried I’ll fuck it up,” Joe suggested, and Booker sighed.

“I’m taking care of the security systems, Joe, and Andy’s standing by as backup for this one. You’re on retrieval duty for this baby, mon frere,” he insisted. “And if I break my neck over a stupid trinket my wife and sons will never forgive me.”

“It’s a jade funeral mask and it’s going back to Campeche where it belongs,” Joe replied. “You’ve got the fake, right?”

“Andy has it. It’ll buy us enough time for the real thing to make it to Mexico, and by then-” Booker shrugged. “Possession is nine-tenths of the law, no?”

“As long as it gets back to its people, I don’t particularly care about the legalities,” Joe retorted. “So, should we change our plans? Instead of dropping in through a skylight and getting water everywhere we drop in through a chimney like Santa Claus?”

“Ho. Ho. Ho,” Booker said dryly. “No, skylight still works, the closest chimney is too far away and increases the risk of being spotted. We want this clean and quick. And I don’t think you’ll be squirming down any chimneys anytime soon.”

It was, all in all, a fruitful planning session. Nothing about the plan was fundamentally altered. Everything was merely pushed back a day, thanks to Booker’s timely intervention (“Bribery and petty theft is easily done.”). Despite Booker’s assurances that all would be well, Joe couldn’t prevent a prickle of unease from forming in his gut. He didn’t like when plans changed. He could think on his feet, true, and he was excellent at improvisation, but Joe didn’t like taking risks when it came to recovering stolen goods. And they _were_ stolen. It didn’t matter if the thefts happened ten, a hundred, or hundreds of years ago. It didn’t matter if they were shoved behind glass and marked with little cards- the people those artifacts belonged to still existed, and it was theft, plain and simple. Joe was merely putting things to rights and returning stolen property. It was the right thing to do!

Joe only wished it wasn’t such a lonely calling.

He had Booker and Andy, yes, but they were tied to this job as deeply as he was- in some ways deeper than he ever could be. The three of them were practically family, brought together by a passion for history, for art, and for what art and objects meant to people. Perhaps they were also tied together by their mutual love of causing chaotic, poetic justice. But they were the only ones who knew this side of him, knew him completely, and Joe could admit that at times it got lonely. Most of his days he felt like he was running on fumes, held together by rubber bands on the brink of snapping, and it was all he could do to not fall apart. The rest of his time he felt as if he was about to burst out of his skin from the restless energy that inhabited him and had no place to go.

Joe was maybe a little stressed out. A lot stressed out. Being a professor and a noble thief was stressful!

His day job was taxing enough- classes, field work, more classes, guest lectures, constant writing… even his sabbaticals were busy! No rest for the wicked, he supposed, but then there was the night job and all it entailed. The planning. The secrets. The thrill of the chase, the break in, the switch- and then the joy in knowing that he could put something to rights. Repatriation was never _easy_ , but the hardship brought greater rewards. And yet- Joe combed his fingers through his curly hair and wondered, not for the first and certainly not the last time, when he’d find the time to go to a barber. At least he managed to find the time and energy to trim his beard so it had a decent shape to it. Nile would scream if he showed up to give a talk looking like he walked out of his hermit history cave for the first time in months.

To be fair, he _was_ swamped with a myriad of tasks to complete. The barber had fallen to the wayside. Lots of things had fallen, naturally, between the cracks of his life as he focused on his work and causes. Such as his love life, but that all but disappeared years ago when Joe was clawing his way through his PhD.

Now Joe had little time for anything outside of work: no haircuts, no vacations, certainly no lovers. No boyfriends or girlfriends (much to the eternal disappointment of his mother), not even an illicit whirlwind romance to fondly remember! But it was all better this way, he told himself. Joe couldn’t wander into someone’s life, fall in love with them, make them love him in return, and then have it all crumble around their ears when they learned everything about him. He couldn’t afford to do that, didn’t _want_ to do that, to anyone. Any partner of his would be forced to live a half life, content with scraps of his time and attention and only knowing a small part of his life and person. They would know Dr. Yusuf al-Kaysani, lauded historian and archeologist who dabbled in painting and loved travel. They might call him Joe (most people did), but they wouldn’t _know_ his double life. They wouldn’t know about his dearest friends, Booker and Andy, and they certainly wouldn’t know about his… work. His Robin Hood-ing with priceless treasures. His reverse Indiana Jones vigilantism, but less guns and punching most of the time.

He did punch a Nazi at a bar that one time. That felt good.

The point was that Joe had integrity, despite the thieving business, and even that was guided by his strict moral code. He couldn’t bear putting someone he ostensibly loved through the heartache of only having parts of him, never a complete man. So, until he left this business, Joe was content with a few hook-ups (that was the slang, yes?) and restless nights with his right hand to satisfy any carnal urges. It was hardly romantic, which always stung Joe deep in his soul. He had always believed, still believed, in love and other poetic sentiments. It just wasn’t practical in his current situation, and Booker and Andy’s combined pessimism and practicality was rubbing off on him. Not enough to drive him to nihilism or drink, of course not, but just enough for Joe to acknowledge that love and romance required effort that he couldn’t afford to spare in his quest to right hundreds of years of colonialism and slice through thousands of kilometers of red tape and bureaucracy.

“Maybe someday,” Joe murmured, and he pretended that his heart didn’t sit heavy in his chest when he whispered that sad hope to the Liverpool skyline.

-

“... now _this_ is part of a tile from Seville, Spain, made and fired during the Nasrid Dynasty. It displays the Nasrid heraldic device, with the phrase “There is no conqueror but God.” And if we turn it slightly- ah, there! Look at how the light transforms the piece! Think of how many craftsmen and women worked on these tiles, how many hands touched it, worked this clay until it became this bit of tile that I’m showing you today,” Dr. Yusuf al-Kaysani enthused, his voice a deep and pleasant rumble as he spoke. “History is not just found in a book or a date. Art is not created only by the wealthy, for the wealthy. It is also here, in this humble tile, and those master craftspeople who forged it. Isn’t it its own little miracle?”

“You’re a miracle,” Nicolò di Genova, Nicky to his friends, mumbled at his phone’s screen as he scanned paperwork and tried not to lose his mind due to the tedium of it all. Take a position as an archivist at the museum, Nicolò! You’re so wonderful at paperwork and organization, Nicolò! You’re qualified, practically over-qualified, Nicolò! And it surely won’t make you lose your accursed mind, Nicolò! You don’t have much of a social life anyways, Nicolò, you’ll be fine!

“Fuck you. I’ve got a cat,” Nicky sternly told those voices in his head. Then he returned his attention to Dr. al-Kaysani and his short guest piece on tile work in al-Andalus. Scanning copies and filing them away was easy. Nicky would have fallen asleep on his feet many times over if it weren’t for the dulcet tones of the preeminent expert on all things related to the Caliphate of Córdoba. It helped that al-Kaysani was a brilliant and passionate speaker, a man who poured his heart and soul into his lectures. Nicky shamefully used every perk he ever gained as an archivist here in Liverpool to binge watch al-Kaysani’s guest lectures for free. Not that he wouldn’t pay, of course, but paying seven membership fees to different organizations seemed a little excessive when he only wanted access to one person’s library of work. 

To be fair to Dr. al-Kaysani, the man had a smile that put the sun to shame. He was magnetizing, arresting, captivating, radiant- Nicky didn’t have much of a talent for words, but there was no end to the adjectives he could use to describe Dr. Yusuf al-Kaysani, his art history lectures, and the sheer brilliance of his mind. He was brilliant in a hundred different ways, and Nicky struggled to find words big enough, deep enough, meaningful enough to describe just how much he admired the man’s work. And perhaps the man himself.

His neighbor and dear friend Qùynh would say Nicky had a problem, but Qùynh was also horribly cynical at times so he pretended not to hear her whenever she snidely asked if he was going to listen to “Professor Heartthrob” again. Yes, Dr. al-Kaysani was attractive. You’d have to be dead to not find him attractive. But Nicky was fascinated by the man’s mind. He was endlessly inventive, always pointing out new and exciting aspects of art and how it related to the world. To people. It was impossible to speak with a pre-recorded video from- Nicky checked the upload date- over two years ago, but Nicky wished he could set aside an afternoon and talk to Dr. al-Kaysani. That, however, was as likely as Nicky getting to walk on the moon. He was but a simple archivist living in Liverpool, and he would probably never have the opportunity to speak with a practical superstar of the art history world. 

Besides, Nicky was busy in the archives, handling letters and worrying about the bats and birds and other small creatures that mysteriously made their way into the building (how did they keep doing that?!). He didn’t have the time or the money to travel the world and attend lectures like some… some fanboy attending a rock concert! Nicolò di Genova had a life here in Liverpool, even if the most exciting thing he got up to on a regular Tuesday morning was unfolding old altar cloths so a documentarian or historian could marvel at the even stitches and embroidery. Nicky liked looking at the faded fabric and imagining the people who held it in their hands over the centuries. He imagined the person who selected each thread for the embroidery, imagined the care in every stitch as roses and lambs and lions and birds grew and raced and flew from the mind to the needle to be immortalized in fabric. And sometimes he thought beyond the thread, back to the dye, back to the linen backed silk, back to the flax that was grown in lands and times far from now.

“Wonder what Dr. al-Kaysani would have to say about that,” Nicky mused, and he idly scrolled through the video suggestions to find another short talk to listen to while he trudged up from archives to the break room for lunch. If he had his earbuds in and looked busy, he wouldn’t have to converse with anyone and could reheat his lunch in peace.

The rest of the day was filled with paperwork and sorting through requests for materials- this visitor needs Box J of the Simmon’s Collection, this visitor needs Box A from the Gilbert Collection, and so on. All the while Nicky listened to Dr. al-Kaysani talk about art across time and space with an infectious enthusiasm that buoyed him through the rest of his day. Then he locked up and went home, taking the tube and walking two blocks back to his apartment, where his cat yowled imperiously and wound herself around his legs in greeting, shedding short black and white fur on his dark grey chinos. Nicky bent over and ran his hand over her skinny back. The cat arched up into his touch and lightly smacked his shin with her tail.

“Callisto, bambina,” Nicky crooned. “I missed you, my sweet girl.” Callisto yowled again, a scratchy meow that Nicky thought was the loveliest little sound in the world. She head butted his shin, accepted another round of pats before trotting off to flop on the living room rug or scratch at her scratching post or murder her little mouse toy. Nicky set his worn down satchel on the bench by the door and toed off his shoes. He hung his light jacket on the hook by the door, ran his hand through his hair, and wondered if it was too early to change into sweatpants and a t-shirt. It was only seven, but he wasn’t planning on going anywhere tonight. He never really planned to go anywhere at all after work. Besides, the chinos and light blue sweater with white dress shirt was professional, true, but it was stifling. If he couldn’t be comfortable in his own home… Nicky shuffled over to his tiny bedroom and undressed, setting everything in its proper place before crawling into grey sweatpants and a dark olive green cotton t-shirt.

After that it was a normal late afternoon/early evening in the life of Nicolò di Genova. He cooked dinner. Fed his cat. Ate dinner while watching the local weather report- rain again, but no surprise there. It was as he was sipping on a mug of tea (lemon-chamomile) that there was a knock on his apartment door. Nicky set the mug down and patted Callisto’s head.

“Let’s see what this is all about, hmm?” he told her. When he peered through the peephole and caught a glimpse of dark hair and a bright red raincoat through the glass he grinned and opened the door.

“Ah, Qùynh,” he greeted the woman who stood on his doorstep, his neighbor and only real friend in this cold, rainy country. She smiled (smirked, really) up at him and brushed her shoulder length hair back from her face.

“Nicky,” Qùynh replied, looking him up and down. “Nice socks.”

“Thank you,” Nicky said politely. “They were a Christmas gift. Would you like to come inside?”

“Thanks,” she said, and she stepped over the threshold, already slipping out of her shoes. “Can’t believe you still wear those. They’re hideous.”

“The cats look like Callisto and you gave them to me,” Nicky said defensively. “Of course I wear them!”

“Nicky, you international treasure and sweetheart,” Qùynh sighed. “I mourn the day Dr. Heartthrob stole you from the rest of us mere mortals with his educational video lectures. The asshole.” Qùynh hung her raincoat up on the spare hook and toed off her before taking a diving leap onto Nicky’s couch and curling her legs underneath her. Callisto stretched out of her perch on her cat tree to investigate their visitor.

“Qùynh, it’s pure intellectual respect and admiration, nothing more,” Nicky retorted weakly. “I’m not that shallow, you know.” Of course he had to deny having a crush on Dr. al-Kaysani, especially when Qùynh teased him about his obvious infatuation. A crush! Like he was some lovesick schoolboy! He was a full grown man who just celebrated thirty one long years on this earth. He was too old for unrealistic crushes!

“Yes, you go and tell yourself that, that’s fine,” Qùynh said in mock soothing tones. “But I have a _surprise_ for you!” She practically sang the last part to him as she pulled out two pieces of paper from her ox-blood red purse and waved them about in the air. Callisto jumped onto the back of the couch by Qùynh’s head and purred her rusty purr.

“Tickets!” Qùynh exclaimed. “Guess who is giving a guest lecture at that history convention on Friday?!”

“No,” Nicky breathed out. He might be a little oblivious to the workings and goings on of the modern world, locked up in his archive as he was, but he wouldn’t have, couldn’t have missed _this_!

“Mmhmm! Remember Lykon? My coworker who quit being a lawyer to be a nature photographer? He was planning on going to this talk before he got that Siberian assignment, and when he mentioned that your man would be giving a lecture I thought ‘who do I know who would truly appreciate an afternoon spent listening to a man talk about medieval weaponry and art?’” Qùynh, as if she needed to emphasize her question, gestured towards Nicky’s unusual collection of old knives and the long sword hanging on the far wall.

“And the answer was obvious: ‘My dear friend and neighbor Nicky!’ So I asked Lykon for his tickets, and… Surprise!” Qùynh cheered, and she handed one of the papers over to him. Nicky took it in both hands and read it, not fully absorbing the words out of shock.

“Qùynh, I really don’t know what to say,” Nicky murmured. He was lucky, lucky beyond measure, to have stumbled upon a friend like Qùynh, who was as generous and loving as she was playfully teasing, like having an older sister when he had always been the oldest, the responsible one. Sometimes it was nice to be taken care of, Nicky thought as he held the printer paper in his hands. Sometimes it was nice to be thought of, considered, cared for.

“Thank you is a good place to start,” Qùynh smugly replied. “I’ll also extend the thanks towards Lykon, since he was so generous as to give them to me.”

“You’re sure you have time to attend as well? Your practice-“ Nicky hesitantly asked. Qùynh was busy with her law practice, always rushing around trying to clean up messes and comb through dense paperwork. She may have boundless energy, but even that had to have its limits at some point.

“Will be fine without me for one afternoon,” Qùynh insisted. “Consider me a… documentarian. I want to see your face when you see Dr. Heartthrob in the flesh. Wanna write “Marry Me?” on your eyelids and practice fluttering them seductively in the mirror? He might fall in love with you if you bat those lashes enough.”

“Disgusting. I’m hardly that desperate,” Nicky retorted dryly, even as he inwardly panicked at the very thought of seeing Dr. al-Kaysani in person. He was going to have to sit on his hands to prevent himself from asking questions and making a fool of himself. Or starting an argument. He had always had a talent for stumbling over his words and making a mess of things, and he also had a tendency to never back down in a fight.

“The man’s hot, smart, and famous. Maybe fabulously wealthy from publishing books and collecting lecture fees, I dunno. Point is that you could do worse. Much worse. Fuck, I’m turning into an auntie,” Qùynh muttered. “Nicky, check my hair for grey, am I going grey? Did I ask if you’re eating enough? Sleeping enough? No, wait, the answer to that is definitely not.”

“I’ve had dark circles under my eyes since I was twelve, Qùynh. This is hardly new,” Nicky said. “And let me check. No grey hairs- wait!”

“What? What is it?!” Qùynh wailed.

“Never mind, just the light,” he said sweetly. “Might have been Callisto’s fur. She is shedding.”

“I rescind your international treasure status, Nicky, you are a monster,” Qùynh grumbled, and Nicky laughed. He may be a stranger in a strange country, across the sea from his family and his old life, but it wasn’t so bad now. He had a job he mostly loved, a cat he adored, and a friend who was always ready to push him out of his comfort zone. And now he had a thing to do next Friday, even if it was only attending a lecture on weaponry in the Cordoba Caliphate.

“Thank you, Qùynh,” Nicky replied. “Would you like some tea? You may continue to, ah, roast me for a while.”

“With pleasure,” Qùynh said with a sharp grin.

Qùynh left an hour later, leaving Nicky’s ticket on his coffee table (“Don't worry if you lose it, I have a copy on my phone.”). Afterwards Nicky stared at the ticket- hotel space, crowded event, probably should dress well for it- and apprehension curled up in his gut. It was just a lecture. On medieval weaponry and art. If it wasn’t Dr. al-Kaysani of the warm voice and bright personality Nicky wouldn’t be worried at all.

“He’s just a man, Nicolò,” Nicky told himself. “It’s not as if you’re going to _speak_ with him!” That was the kind of serendipitous coincidence that happened in his mama’s romance novels, the ones she hid in cardboard boxes under the beds and refused to acknowledge. But Nicky could be a romantic, even if he hadn’t the beautiful words for it, and sometimes dreams were a pleasant escape from what would most likely be a mentally stimulating but otherwise average history lecture.

So Nicky sat on his couch with another mug of chamomile tea, read one of the books on his ever growing “to read” pile, and occasionally pet his cat. It was a pleasant way to spend the evening. Nicky was content.

That would have to do for now.


	2. Chapter 2

Joe held his bag in one hand and a styrofoam cup filled with lukewarm coffee in the other when he realized he was rather hopelessly lost in the labyrinthine halls of the hotel. The morning after Booker’s visit Joe made his way to a barber and had his hair trimmed, then went back to his hotel to attempt to unwrinkle his suit and organize his notes. Mostly he mumbled to himself while ironing and wondering, for perhaps the hundredth time, why he even bothered. It would just wrinkle up during the taxi ride to the other hotel. He had planned on booking a room there, but the prices were absurd. Besides, his current hotel was a block away from the museum. Much more convenient.

Didn’t solve his current problem, however. He was in the right hotel, sure, and definitely the right floor, but the conference room? Now that was a mystery. His head was swimming with museum floor plans and he couldn’t navigate himself out of a paper bag right now-

“Joe? Hey, Joe!” a familiar voice, Nile, greeted him from across the hall. She was dressed in dark dress pants and a ruby red blouse with gold hoop earrings dangling from her ears. She was a lovely, blessed sight, her mahogany skin almost glowing, her braided hair pinned up like a crown around her head. Perhaps a halo, Joe thought, because she was a blessedly welcome sight in these hallways that all looked the same.

“Ah, if it isn’t my favorite future doctor,” Joe exclaimed, holding his arms out reflexively to scoop her up in a giant hug. Nile pointedly looked at his coffee.

“Hotel coffee?” she asked, the disdain dripping in her voice. “I’m not bougie, Joe, but that’s dishwater. Not coffee.”

“It’s not so bad,” Joe said defensively, and at Nile’s grimace he chuckled. “Oh, fine, it’s terrible. But it could be worse, right?”

“Joe, what kind of shit did you drink that makes you think _that’s_ acceptable?” Nile asked.

“You definitely don’t want to know,” Joe laughed. “I’m looking for ballroom B, you don’t happen to know where…”

“Second hallway,” Nile said promptly. “You look pretty tired, Joe. No sleep?”

“Stayed up late reviewing my notes and streamlining them,” Joe replied, and it was mostly the truth. He never liked lying, even lies by omission, and he had stayed up to edit down his lecture and see if it needed a few minor tweaks. He also stayed up perfecting the plan for the museum heist. And he may have spent a good hour staring out the window at the rain and the dark Liverpool skyline while feeling horribly lost and lonely, but that was a secret between him, the window, and the rain.

“Hopefully the coffee will perk me up,” Joe added. “I promise, as soon as I’m done answering questions I’ll head back to my hotel and sleep.” Nile only raised her eyebrow and smiled.

“No conversations with your art restoration friend? No heated debates with colleagues? No drawn out Q & A’s?” Nile teased. “C’mon, finish your drink and we can head to ballroom B together. I want a good seat.”

It was a bit of a blur after that. Handshakes, greeting colleagues, setting up his notes and PowerPoint (mostly pictures to illustrate his points), checking the mic- it was routine at this point, and Joe lost himself in the familiar motions. He spotted Booker with Andy in the back corner and gave them a quick nod to acknowledge them. Booker nodded back while Andy smirked and waved a casual hello. Nile, true to her word, took a seat towards the front, next to an elegantly dressed woman with dark hair that shined under the lights. Nile leaned forward to chat to the person next to the elegant woman and- Joe’s heart stuttered slightly in his rib cage as his eyes caught sight of him.

He didn’t realize there was a god among these mere mortals attending this talk.

Perhaps that was hyperbole and poetic license, but Joe was a romantic. And the man was lovely, with a profile that would make the Renaissance masters weep. Their works simply could never compare to the simple elegance, the sheer perfection of that face. The expressions he made as he listened to Nile were nothing short of divine. There was a cautious softness to his smile, a smile that lived in the eyes more than his mouth. And what a mouth! He could write hymns and odes to that mouth, the way it moved, and Joe desperately wished he could switch places with Nile or the woman she sat next to so he could hear what this man had to say. Instead Joe fixated on the mole that sat near his mouth like it had been kissed into existence, and he wondered if the man’s hair was naturally that tousled or if today was simply a bad hair day.

And now he was staring too much, wasn’t he? Joe quickly glanced away, trying to think of something, anything beyond the fact that an angel descended from their heavenly perch to grace these less than hallowed halls. He couldn’t even get a good look of the man’s full face, since he seemed utterly focused on whatever Nile was saying. Which was good. Great, even! Anyone who paid Nile the respect and courtesy she was due was on Joe’s good side, as far as he was concerned. But a selfish part of him wanted that focus directed at himself. He wanted to see this man’s face. Joe wanted to know the color of his eyes, to learn every expression of his face from every angle. He wanted… wanted…

Joe’s fingers twitched slightly against the laminated wood surface of the lectern. He wanted, _needed_ , a pencil, a stub of charcoal, a paintbrush- he would have been satisfied with a stick and sand if it meant he could temporarily immortalize this man, this moment, in art. Joe pulled a pen out of his backpack pocket and quickly scratched out a sketch in the margins of his notes. His sketch was but a pale imitation of the real man, but he did his best. A line here, a cross-hatch there- if only he had more delicate inks to work with instead of a ballpoint pen! But he would, could, work with what he had. Maybe if he asked the man if he could sketch him in a better, more private setting… no, that would be forward and strange, and he had promised Nile he’d get some sleep. He promised _himself_ he’d get some sleep. Tomorrow was going to be a busy, busy night, and Joe needed all the sleep he could get. So he’d have to content himself with a ballpoint sketch and memories. Maybe a fleeting glance while he gave his talk.

Hopefully he wouldn’t completely lose his train of thought when he finally glimpsed this angel’s face.

“Ah, Dr. al-Kaysani?” a nervous voice said, and Joe looked down at the student standing by his shoulder. Her dark brown eyes were wide, nervous, and she kept fiddling with the end of her pale pink headscarf, her other hand clutching a clipboard so tightly the skin of her knuckles were bone white. Joe glanced down at her name tag.

“Of course, Rahel. Thank you for the reminder,” Joe said warmly. “Please feel free to keep us updated on the time, I have a tendency to forget myself.” He was probably infamous for his rambling at this point. Booker mocked him relentlessly for his long-winded speeches (“We can always count on Joe to have something to say, hmm?”).

“S-sure! Not a problem!” Rahel squeaked, clutching her clipboard tightly to her chest. “I’ll just get Professor McNamara to introduce you, okay? Umm, do you need anything? Water? I can get you water.”

“Water sounds great, thank you,” he replied. “And this may be odd, but do you happen to have a pencil I can borrow?”

Ten minutes later, with water and a pencil, Joe stood back and sketched as Professor Claudia McNamara introduced him and gave a brief overview of his career, his work, and the topic of today’s talk. All the while Joe feverishly sketched, committing the face of Nile’s mysterious new friend onto paper. His face was no longer a secret, and his eyes- his eyes! There was something compelling about those eyes that shifted from blue to grey to green depending on the light. And the focus! Always so focused, brows drawn, gorgeous mouth pressed tight in a line. Beautiful, like a work of the Renaissance masters brought into flesh, Pygmalion in the modern era.

“... and so, without further ado, here is Dr. Yusuf al-Kaysani!” Professor McNamara exclaimed. Joe stepped up to the lectern and smiled at Claudia. She studied the history of games, particularly card games, and Joe always wondered if she planned to retire to Monaco Vegas and take her chances in the casinos there.

“Thank you, Professor McNamara. And thank you to everyone who came out in all this good English rain to listen to me ramble about Al-Andalusian weaponry and art for an hour,” Joe said, easily falling into the rhythm of his usual lectures and talks, smiling and growing more excited as he spoke, showing examples of swords and shields and armor, of spear tips and arrowheads, of heavily decorated scabbards and jeweled daggers… and every once in a while he’d spare a glance at the faces in the crowd. There was Booker in the back corner in a relaxed slouch but watching attentively. There was Andy, arms crossed over her chest, nodding along and frowning or smiling at whatever he just said. Nile was taking notes, rolling her eyes at his jokes and smiling. The lady next to her looked thoughtfully at him, occasionally glancing at the man at her side, and the man…

Well, whenever Joe met his gaze (sometimes blue, sometimes grey, sometimes green) it felt as if the rest of the world melted away, and he was talking to him. Only him. Joe felt exposed in a way he never had before with this man’s intense concentration focused on him, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. No. It was the opposite, as if this man saw him down to his very core and accepted what he saw without judgement. Of course, this could just be Joe being a romantic and lusting after a pretty face. It wouldn’t be the first time, after all.

Joe wrapped up the talk and answered questions in a bit of a daze, then let Professor McNamara take charge as he packed up. He spoke with a few people, hoping, desperately, that the man would come up and introduce himself. But he didn’t, and soon enough Booker sidled up to him.

“Might need to wrap things up before things get ugly,” he whispered, making a pointed glance over at Andy, who was looking at something- someone- with an odd expression on her beautiful, stern face. It was something like… heartbreak. The only time Joe saw Andy look so openly raw and wounded and sad was… fuck, about two years ago? She got horrendously drunk while at Joe’s apartment and rambled on about morality and legality and how secrets destroy everything, everything, and nothing ever lasted.

The next morning, while drinking coffee and eating a greasy breakfast to nurse the mother of all hangovers, Andy ordered Joe to never, ever, tell anyone what happened.

“What’s the matter?” Joe asked softly.

“Her, uh, her ex-wife is here,” Booker said nervously. “Apparently. She’s got a red coat on.”

“Oh. Oh no,” Joe murmured, because out of all the ladies wearing red in the room there was only one in a bright red coat, and she was standing next to Nile and the stunningly gorgeous and attentive man with eyes like the sea. What were the odds? Seemed like it was fate. Or destiny. Or an omen. Joe scrambled for a solution and hit on it immediately.

“You get Andy out of here, find a bar, text me later,” he ordered. “I’ll talk with a few more people, meet you in an hour. Two hours tops.”

“Go take a nap, meet us tomorrow for breakfast,” Booker retorted. “Did you sleep at all after I left?”

“Slept well enough,” Joe said. “Go. Take care of Andy, she needs it.”

“Yes, fine, we’ll drink away the heartache and angst and you can come fix us up in the morning,” Booker sighed. “Ah, now Nile’s glaring at me. Are you sure she doesn’t think I’m going to break your heart?”

“Yes, I’m sure,” Joe rolled his eyes. “Now go!”

Sparing one final look at Booker, and then, beyond him, the still and obviously grief-stricken Andy, Joe quickly swept into action, saying hello and speaking with those who he came upon as he made his way towards Nile. She was speaking with the man and woman- Andy’s ex, Andy’s ex-wife, clearly someone Andy still cared for, loved even based on the grief etched into her face, and Joe grew even more determined to keep Andy safe and away. Strange how things changed with one mere sentence. At first he and Booker worried that Andy would cause chaos and try to lure Nile into their less than legal enterprises, but now they shifted gears to protect Andy from this mysterious woman in red. Her ex-wife. Joe had to keep her distracted until Andy and Booker were gone.

Easy. Hopefully he wouldn’t be horribly distracted by the angelic man standing next to her. He was a little taller than Joe, broad shoulders, and those thighs… wow. He could die a happy man with his head cradled between those thighs. And when Nile glanced up at him and smiled pleasantly, the man turned his head and stared. Surprise and a cautious sort of warmth bloomed in his remarkable eyes, and Joe knew he was grinning like a fool at this man.

“And here he is! Nicky, Qùynh, this is Dr. Yusuf al-Kaysani,” Nile said brightly. “Joe, this is Qùynh Tran and Nicky di Genova. Qùynh’s a lawyer and runs a nonprofit that advocates for the repatriation of artifacts, and Nicky’s an archivist at a museum here in Liverpool!”

“Pleasure to meet you, Dr. al-Kaysani,” Qùynh added, offering her hand to him. He took it and marveled at the similarities between her strong handshake and Andy’s. Firm grip, cool hand, calluses. Strange. Her smile was polite and pleasant, but there was some sort of shadowed grief in her dark eyes as well, an echo of the expression in Andy’s eyes. Did they spot each other across the crowded ballroom? Did they feel the same sort of shock and horror? Joe had never pried into Andy’s breakup, respectful of Andy’s simple request, but now he wanted to know if only to ease the heartache he saw in his friend’s face.

“Nice to meet you as well, Ms.Tran,” he replied. “And call me Joe, please. Nice to know we’ve got an ally in repatriation.” If this was Qùynh’s work, he could see why Andy had liked her. Loved her, even. So where had it gone so horribly wrong?

“Call me Qùynh, I insist. And it’s a passion project,” Qùynh said modestly. “Nicky here is the heart behind it all.”

Oh, Joe could easily believe that. He turned his attention to the man- Nicky. Nicky of the tousled sandy brown hair and stormy sea eyes, with a face like a marble statue and a fashion sense of a suburban dad who shopped at the sales rack of Gap in his black trousers and heather grey sweater. He was even lovelier up close, and Joe wished he could take him out for a drink and convince him to pose for a sketch. He wanted to immortalize that face and its many subtle moods in every medium he could imagine.

“Mr. di Genova,” Joe said, offering his hand. “Your family must have been important in Genoa, to have that name.”

“No, just old,” Nicky replied swiftly, and his voice! Music. Pure music. Joe was half in love by the time Nicky grasped his hand and shook it, his eyes unnervingly sharp and locked onto his. 

“Nicky is a huge fan of your work,” Qùynh interrupted, and the sly teasing note in her voice was so akin to Andy’s that Joe once again saw how they would have liked- loved- each other. What happened between them to leave Andy so devastated that Booker thought she wouldn’t be able to handle the rest of the day without drinking her sorrows away? But then he was distracted by what Qùynh said, that Nicky followed his work, and Joe wasn’t above feeling flattered. He glanced through his eyelashes at Nicky, whose pale neck was flushed, a pale rosy color that Joe wanted to paint.

“Your specialty was religious studies, right Nicky?” Nile said, and there was a glimmer in her eyes that should have spelled trouble, but Joe was a little distracted by Nicky’s hand in his and those wondrous eyes.

“Yes,” he replied. “Your work is fascinating, Dr. al-Kaysani.” He let go of Joe’s hand, and Joe missed the warmth and strength of his grip immediately.

“Joe. Please. May I call you Nicky?” he asked. Please let me call you Nicky, he wanted to beg, but he had enough sense not to do that. Last night’s moping by the window seemed a century ago now that he beheld this man. One simply couldn’t feel lonely with Nicky’s eyes on them. It seemed impossible, but there it was!

“Of course,” Nicky said. “Joe.”

Joe could die a happy man.

“Oh, Nile, have you been in Liverpool before? I moved here last year from London, but there’s a lovely coffee shop across the way. I’d love to hear more about your advocacy work,” Qùynh smoothly said, and before Joe realized it he and Nicky were alone as Qùynh and Nile walked away chatting amiably.

Booker was absolutely going to kill him. Joe was going to ditch their “keep Andy away from her ex-wife” mission because he was infatuated by a blue-eyed Italian man with little silver hoop earrings in his earlobes and a soft smile in his eyes, and Joe couldn’t even muster up a little bit of shame or regret. Inshallah, Booker would forgive him in time. Andy would understand immediately. She’d probably encourage it (“Go out and live a little, Joe. Crawl out of the past, live in the present for once.”), especially if she could tease him for it earlier.

“It may be a little late for coffee,” Joe said smoothly, “but want to grab lunch? There’s a sandwich place around the corner. I’d like to get to know you better, Nicky.”

“Lunch sounds excellent,” Nicky replied, his eyes bright with surprised pleasure, and Joe counted that as a victory.

-

If you asked Nicolò di Genova how he ended up across the table eating lunch with world famous archaeologist, historian, and lecturer Dr. Yusuf al-Kaysani, he would have shrugged his shoulders and smiled helplessly. He simply didn’t know the answer. He doubted he could ever articulate what happened, but one second he was quietly speaking with Qùynh and the young woman who was sitting next to her, Nile. They were discussing repatriation and public projects to bring art to everyone. Nile was discussing an advocacy group she worked with last summer in Chicago, and Nicky mentioned the many school groups that visited the archives and programs he was developing for the museum. Then Nile turned her head, looked up towards the stage and lectern, and _smiled_. Nicky followed her gaze to see who she was looking at, and then-

Then the next he knew, Nicky was staring up into Dr. al-Kaysani’s warm brown eyes (doe eyes, sweet and warm and a touch mischievous with laugh lines and the beginnings of crow’s feet at the corners). He never stopped looking up after that, and whenever their eyes met Nicky felt like he was drowning in sunshine.

“Gotta hand it to you, Nicky,” Qùynh had murmured when Dr. al-Kaysani turned to the projector to point at the inlaid enamel that decorated a dagger pommel. “Dr. Heartthrob looks even better in person. Sounds better, too”

Nicky had to agree. There was something about Dr. al-Kaysani, no, Joe, that was magnetic. He could already feel the strength of that compelling warmth from behind the screen, but in person it was like feeling the gravitational pull of the earth, or maybe the sun. Nicky wanted to orbit around Joe forever, just to bask in his presence and knowledge and soak it up like a sponge. But it was one thing to daydream and ponder about a thing, and then to experience it in reality the full wonder of it all. Joe was incredible, and Nicky couldn’t quite wrap his head around the fact that they were sitting across the table from each other, eating lunch and talking as if they had known each other for years. 

“So, how did you end up working in archives, Nicky? Nile said you were in religious studies?” Joe asked, and Nicky almost blurted out his entire life history for the man. But he managed to restrain himself, smile politely, and stuck to the basic facts.

“Seminary. I was planning to go into the priesthood, but the church and I? We didn’t suit. Too many disagreements,” Nicky said slowly, and the less said about that the better. “Went to university instead, studied theology and history, got my masters, then went into archival work. And here I am.” 

The details were so much more complicated. They always were, but in the end it was as Nicky said: he went from being a seminary student to working in archives. Then, two years ago, Nicky had had enough. He had enough of wondering who he was, tired of wandering through the hallowed halls of the university he was working at and realizing he barely had friends in town anymore. He was tired of the years of feeling adrift and out of place in Genova. Nicky had enough of the pointed looks and whispers at Mass, grew tired of his mother and sisters _looking_ at him with sad eyes full of questions they’d never ask (“You’re unhappy, Nico, why are you so unhappy?”). It was too much, and Nicky had had enough. Something had to change. So he submitted applications everywhere he could think of, just to get away from Genova, from Italy, from everyone he knew. Somehow he was accepted at his current job, and he arrived in soggy England with a suitcase in hand and a vague, desperate hope that he might find a place where he belonged. And now?

“Here you are,” Joe murmured, his expression so gentle and understanding that Nicky felt _seen_. Those words felt like a benediction when they came from Joe’s mouth. Nicky felt the heat rise up the back of his neck to the tips of his ears, and he quickly picked up his glass of water and drank. What else could he do? Words felt clumsy and heavy like river rocks in his mouth. So Nicky shrugged and smiled shyly, and he hoped that Joe wouldn’t take his quiet nature as a personal offense.

“And you. Have you always loved art, Joe?” Nicky asked.

“Hmm, yes. I considered being an artist for a time, but then I went on a school trip to Amsterdam and-“ Joe’s dark brown eyes went almost misty, full of memory and a soft sort of joy that was as captivating as his enthusiasm.

“We were at an art and history museum, and I was determined to see every Rembrandt and Vermeer in the collection. And I did, of course, but as I was walking through the medieval collection I- there was a tapestry, some heraldic device for a king or emperor. Charles V? Probably Charles V, but I didn’t pay attention to that at the time,” Joe chuckled softly, and Nicky wished he could bottle up the sound and hold it to his ear later, like holding a seashell and hearing the ocean when you were thousands of miles away.

“It hardly mattered. I stared at this tapestry for what felt like hours, looking at every thread, thinking of the people who selected every color to form those subtle transitions and elaborate patterns,” Joe explained. “And there I was, a fourteen year old boy with scabs on my knees from football, furthest thing away from a medieval European craftsman, but I felt a strange pull between us. The loom he worked with, the threads he held, the skill in his hands and creativity in his head, all that came together to create the tapestry hanging on the wall, and somehow it survived and I could see it.” Joe smiled brightly at him, and Nicky smiled back, urging him to continue his story. Joe leaned across the table, still smiling, looking as if he was about to impart a great secret.

“I was a bit of a pretentious shit, but who isn’t at fourteen? But that was the moment that changed all of art for me. Changed my life, really. Went from making art to also talking about it, the history behind the pieces, trying to find these unknown craftsmen and women who made these objects and tell their stories,” Joe explained.

“You were a deeper thinker than I was at that age,” Nicky replied automatically. “I was busy trying to sneak out of my house at night.”

“Oh? What for? Don’t tell me you were a bad boy under the choir boy robes, Nicky,” Joe teased, and the heat that lived at the back of Nicky’s neck crept up to his face.

“I’ve always been a bit of a, ah, what’s the phrase? A night owl,” Nicky murmured. “When my thoughts got too much for my head to handle, I would climb out of my window. Sneak out. Mostly I just… walked. Everywhere. I was a wanderer. Mama never understood. She would get so angry at me for wandering around at night. Probably not the safest thing to do, now that I look back on it, but as a teenager I wanted to… escape, I suppose. If only for a few hours. I was always back by sunrise.” Not that that had made much of a difference to his mother, who was always waiting with a cup of coffee in hand and a frown on her weary face.

(“Oh, Nicolò,” she would sigh. “Will you ever stop your wandering?”)

“Responsible even in your delinquency,” Joe teased, and Nicky laughed.

“And look at me now! Whenever I can’t sleep I stay late at the office or read. Very boring.” He was only half joking- his own sisters remarked on how mild and dull he was (“Nicky, you’re practically a monk!” and “Nicky, live a little!” were common refrains), and his mother despaired over his lack of a social life (“You need _someone_ , Nico. Papers and moldy books won’t keep you warm and happy!”). Even Qùynh gently poked fun at him (“Nicky, will you ever take one night out? Just one?”). Nicky was used to the jokes, but he was surprised when Joe’s smile faded, and instead a fierce, almost protective expression crossed his face.

“I don’t think anything you do could be boring, Nicky,” Joe remarked, and if Nicky’s face was flushed before now he was overheated. Joe sounded incredibly earnest. There was an intensity in his voice, in his eyes, and Nicky grinned.

“Well, two interesting things happened to me recently,” Nicky remarked, and at Joe’s curious expression he continued, leaning forward across the table to confide in the man.

“Last Tuesday I helped a group of historical costumers examine a set of combinations from the 1890s. Green silk ribbons, lace inserts. Very expensive, excellent condition,” Nicky said, and he treasured the delighted laugh he pulled out of Joe with the remark.

“Must have been an event,” Joe replied. “What was the other thing?”

“I went to a lecture on al-Andalusian weaponry and ended up having lunch with the fascinating historian who gave the talk,” Nicky said plainly, and when Joe smiled Nicky relished the berry dark flush that spread across his face.

Eventually they paid their bill and left the sandwich shop. They headed down the sidewalk together, and it felt natural to brush his arm against Joe’s as they walked together and talked.

“So, Qùynh,” Joe let her name linger in the air like a question.

“My neighbor. And friend,” Nicky said. “She moved next door to me last year. She lived in London before she came to Liverpool and started her practice.” Qùynh didn’t say much about her life before moving to Liverpool. It was as if a shadow of sadness fell over her for a brief moment, and when she shook it off she’d give him a grim smile and say something like “the past is the past” before quickly changing the topic.

“And your coworker as well,” Joe pointed out. “You help her with her non-profit? For repatriation? She did say you were, ah, the heart of the project?” The interest in Joe’s voice was oddly comforting. Nicky was always cautious when talking about his repatriation work- it was volunteer stuff, mostly, and he spearheaded a few talks with students and fellow archivists. It wasn’t anything as great or transformative as Qùynh’s work, and it never felt right to be praised for simply trying to fix something that needed fixing.

“Qùynh’s just… exaggerating, I suppose. I was ranting to her about the Gweagal Shield one night, told her that it should be returned- I mean, other museums are doing the same thing, the Gweagal Shield and Spears should be returned, regardless of the provenance- I’m sorry,” Nicky apologized, already feeling the red-hot anger coursing through his veins. “This is probably the last thing you want to hear. You are an archeologist, after all.”

“No,” Joe murmured. “I’m- I agree with you. About repatriation, I mean. Please, continue?” With Joe’s encouragement Nicky hesitantly continued, gaining confidence and enthusiasm as he spoke, Joe’s full attention fixed on him.

“In any case, I ranted. We were at her apartment, having dinner, drinking. Next morning I wake up on her couch with a hangover and Qùynh’s shoving her laptop in my face and demanding that I help her create a non-profit,” the memory of the normally elegant Qùynh red-eyed, with her dark hair swept up in a tangled bun and mascara and eyeliner smudged around her eyes, still made Nicky want to laugh.

“That's where it started, you see. And now I keep her up to date on the latest repatriation cases, point her and the other lawyers to precedent from other museums and collectors,” Nicky quickly added. “We’ve been working on the paperwork for this wonderful ceramic bowl at the museum. It’s from the Hoi An wreck. it’s beautiful, and we’re so, so close to getting everything squared away so we can have it on loan for five more years, then we’ll return it permanently to the museum in Hanoi.” He was rambling at this point, all too aware of the intense expression on Joe’s face. So Nicky shrugged sheepishly.

“It’s really Qùynh’s work. I help where I can, push where I can, and I know that I sometimes have more… pull? Influence? But Qùynh doesn’t take enough credit, and gives me too much,” Nicky sighed. “It really was nothing. I think she likes to embarrass me with the story. She says I’m funny when I’m drunk.” Even admitting that little bit of a shameful fact didn’t erase the look of stunned, quiet awe that crossed Joe’s face. Nicky didn’t know what to make of that expression- no one ever looked at him that way before, like he was some great mystery that needed to be solved. It was… it was a lot. But then Joe looked away and let out a surprised huff of a laugh, and the intensity was broken. Nicky found he could breathe again.

“Here’s my stop,” Joe remarked, pointing up to the hotel sign they now stood under. “I promised Nile I’d try and sleep for a few hours before I met up with some old friends in town.”

“I’m sorry to keep you from sleeping with my rambling,” Nicky apologized, though he didn’t regret spending time with Joe. Dr. Yusuf al-Kaysani, “call me Joe,” who was far warmer and friendlier and alive than his lectures and videos were. And he listened, truly listened, to him! He didn’t roll his eyes, or scoff, or wring his hands and try to convince him that “really, repatriation was just so hard, and all the European museums got more traffic anyways so wasn’t it better for artifacts to stay there?” (Nicky had never forgotten that remark from the disastrous blind date he went on with whoever he was- Brad? Yes, Brad. His face was a blur, but the memory was as sharp as an icy winter wind.) But Joe? Joe listened.

“I don’t regret a moment of our talk. I had a more relaxing time speaking with you than I would have trying to fall asleep,” Joe said firmly, and he fumbled through his bag for a moment before pulling out his phone.

“This might be sudden, but, ah, email? Or a number? I would love to talk to you again sometime, Nicky,” Joe said, and Nicky’s heartbeat quickened in his chest. Nicky pulled his phone out of his jacket pocket and quickly added a contact.

“Of course. I also have a twitter, but it’s mostly personal, not academic,” Nicky added quickly, and he hoped that didn’t sound too horribly desperate. But Joe merely smiled and recited his phone number before typing Nicky’s into his phone.

“Maybe I’d like to know you in a personal manner, hmm? I see that you’ve also been dragged into the age of technology,” Joe laughed. “It’s nearly impossible to keep up with it all, but I do my best. Even if I feel as if I live more in the past than the present.”

“I have no room to judge. Qùynh worries that if I didn’t have my cat I’d live in the museum,” Nicky joked. It wasn’t too far from the truth, after all. He used to keep a sleeping bag in the grad student office when he was working on his masters and stayed too late on campus. And, as he liked to point out to Qùynh and Lykon and anyone else who brought the topic up, he wasn’t the only one. Some of his friends from university, the ones he still spoke to, were similar workaholics in different departments (Raquelle in ME, Michel in music education and performance, Anya in marine biology, and more). He expected Joe to make some sort of quip about the sleeping bag, but he laughed.

“I’m just as bad. I moved a cot into my office when I was a doctoral candidate, but now I’ve upgraded to a futon. So much work, so little time,” he sighed, dragging his hand through his dark, curly hair before fixing Nicky with one last, intense stare.

“I really do have to sleep. Wish I could talk to you longer, Nicky,” Joe murmured.

“You have my number,” Nicky pointed out, mostly to avoid blurting out something embarrassing, like “I watched all your guest lecture videos for the Met,” or “You’re breathtaking when you smile.”

“It’s hardly the same,” Joe retorted, and there was that gorgeous smile again, a smile that filled Joe’s face with warmth and light until he rivaled the sun.

“We’ll have to settle, won’t we?” Nicky teased. “Until we meet again.”

“It may be sooner than you think,” Joe replied. “We do work in the same field, after all.”

“Then we’ll see each other soon,” Nicky promised. “I’ll tell you all about the latest scandals in the archives. Save up my best stories.”

“I’ll look forward to it,” Joe said. “Bye, Nicky.”

“Bye, Joe,” Nicky replied. He watched as Joe headed up the stairs, then entered the hotel and disappeared from view. He breathed, breathed out, and wandered back the way he came, making his way to the coffeeshop Qùynh was supposedly going to. He’d have to thank her, he realized as an almost heady delight bubbled up in him like champagne. Nicky would gladly put up with all the Dr. Heartthrob jokes now, because he had Joe’s number, and Joe wanted to talk to him again. Talk! To him! It hardly seemed real! But when his phone buzzed in his pocket, Nicky tugged it out and looked at the message that flashed across the screen.

“Thanks for having lunch with me,” Joe texted. “Nice to make a new friend.”

“You’re welcome,” Nicky texted back, and he almost floated into the coffee shop where Qùynh and Nile were waiting.

-

The muted light of his wristwatch revealed that the number switched from 12:46 AM to 12:47 AM, and Joe shifted slightly to rest his weight on the balls of his feet. The waiting was the hardest part. His mind went into overdrive, imagining every possible terrible outcome that stretched out before him like the delta of a river. There was nothing else to do but wait for Booker to call him over their headsets and tell him to move. Until then Joe usually watched and waited, waited and watched, and the anticipation nearly killed him every time. Most of the time Joe passed the minutes, sometimes hours of waiting by writing papers in his head, or thinking of new projects to work on. He would bring papers to grade, but that was both risky and impractical so he never attempted it. But the waiting wasn’t so bad tonight, Joe thought, and he knew a foolish smile was on his face. The weather had cleared up miraculously, so while the night was cloudy there was no rain in Liverpool and the temperature was relatively mild. And instead of worrying about everything that could go wrong, Joe was… well.

Tonight was very different. Instead of thinking of work, Joe was lost to memories of stunning blue green eyes and a sweet, hesitant smile, of broad shoulders and an aquiline nose and the way a certain set of brows furrowed when he was puzzling something out. He thought of Nicky’s gentle, yet firm voice and the way he restrained his clearly passionate, vibrant nature, and Joe wanted to dig into those reserved layers to uncover the man beneath. He wanted to sink himself into everything that was Nicolò di Genova and discover all his secrets. Maybe it was foolish, and it was definitely dangerous for them both, but Joe felt as if he was born anew from the very moment their hands touched in that hotel ballroom yesterday afternoon. It felt as if he had known Nicky all his life, and Joe wished they could spend more time together.

A bad idea, of course, but Joe wasn’t always the wisest of men.

“Cameras on loop, guards are out on break, time to move,” Booker ordered, and Joe leaped into action. He ducked behind air conditioner units, behind chimneys and turbines and fuse boxes as he scrambled across the flat roof towards the skylight they selected for the break-in. He tied off the end of his tether to an air conditioner and tested the knot. It held firm, and Joe made one final check through his bag- there was the replacement mask, nestled in a fabric nest, and under it… Joe frowned as he picked up the stun gun. Andy’s work, no doubt. Joe hoped he wouldn’t have to use it. Jose quickly pulled a dark bandana over his nose and mouth, slipped on a pair of sunglasses, and adjusted his baseball cap to cover his head.

“In position,” Joe muttered into his headset, and he waited for word from Booker to unlock the latch on the skylight and get to work. They had ten minutes, possibly fifteen if they were lucky, and Joe couldn’t afford to waste a single second.

“Guard just left the room, you’re good to go,” Booker said. “Remember. Ten minutes.” Joe breathed in deeply, tugged on his harness and rope one last time for good measure, and then made the drop into the Meso-American room.

At least their calculations and timing were perfect. Joe dropped straight down into the Meso-American display room, hanging several feet above the display cases. He scanned the room, looking past the lighting in the display cases to look at every shadowed corner and doorway. After a moment to reassure himself that everything was going according to plan, Joe shifted the bag in his arm and dropped the rest of the way to the floor. His boots made a dull thud as he hit the tile, and his knees ached from the jolt of the impact, but Joe shook off the pain and crept towards the display case on the far left. And there it was, gleaming pale green and gold, staring back at him with a stern, almost regal expression: the mask. Joe pulled the fake out of his bag, unwrapped it with care, and unlatched the glass case with his gloved fingers to make the switch.

“I’m surprised it didn’t go off,” someone commented mildly, as if they were making a remark about the weather, and Joe’s blood froze in his veins. Fuck. Fuck! A thousand thoughts flooded through his head as he stood perfectly still. Did the security guard come back? Was Booker wrong about the patrol routes? Everyone made mistakes, after all. Andy was going to be so smug when he came back and she noticed that he had used her stun gun. Fuck, he didn’t want to hurt someone who was just doing his job. And didn’t that voice sound hauntingly familiar? That mild tone, the soft, lyrical rise and fall of the voice, the steadiness and depth of tone-

Oh. Oh no. Joe turned his head only to catch sight of Nicolò di Genova, _Nicky_ , standing in the center of the room. He was wearing the same soft grey sweater from yesterday, though his hair was more mussed than it was when they met. Had he gone to work and fallen asleep at his desk? He said he was a night owl, after all. But he wasn’t going to provide an answer, obviously, and Joe was slowly realizing (too slowly, stunned as he was by Nicky appearing before him like an angel from on high, his haunting eyes almost luminous in the moonlight) that he was in Trouble.

“The- they’re changing the security system,” Joe croaked out lamely.

“I know. I work here,” Nicky retorted. “And you’re stealing.”

“Only what has already been stolen,” Joe snapped back, shifting back into focus. He couldn’t shoot Nicky! Not Nicky with his sweet expressions and beautiful eyes and soft laugh- though he did not look sweet and soft and pleasant now, all stern frowns and steely glare. When he looked like this Joe could almost see him as a priest, or an avenging angel. So now what? Joe couldn't shoot Nicky. He couldn’t abandon the task at hand. What else was he to do?

Keep pushing forward, he supposed. It was all he _could_ do.

“... that’s hardly legal,” Nicky pointed out calmly, as if running into thieves in the Meso-American room was an everyday occurrence for him.

“It’s what’s right,” Joe said shortly, sharply, words flying like knives thrown from his mouth. He knew Andy would have Things to say about his attitude: not everyone sees these things as we do, Joe, you’ve got to be patient, you can’t play your hand too soon- but Nicky merely shrugged his broad shoulders and let Joe get on with his business of switching out the masks, watching him wrap up the original in layers of padding and fabric.

“I suppose a private collector has their eye on that mask? Should I expect to see it on the black market now?” Nicky asked, and Joe tried to ignore the icy anger behind those words. And he thought Nicky was all honey and light! No, there were layers to him. It should have repelled him to have such ire aimed his way, but no. Joe found it compelling how Nicky’s soft face turned fierce, how anger shifted his eyes from a merry blue green to a murky, stormy grey, the sea in all its moods captured in those eyes.

Joe slipped the mask into his bag and shrugged.

“As if I do this for money,” Joe retorted, and Nicky’s expression shifted at that comment. It went from a simmering anger to something more subtle, a rage tempered by curiosity. Ah, if only he had a pencil, a paintbrush, some charcoal to capture those expressions!

“Thrill of the forbidden?” he suggested. “Do you enjoy the chase, the challenge of it all?”

“I want to make things right,” Joe retorted. “And this is one way to do it.”

“By stealing,” Nicky said flatly, but he did not follow as Joe made his way towards the center of the room and the open skylight. He gripped the ascender in his right hand and checked the carabiner and ropes to make sure they were still sturdy. Still good. All the while he watched Nicky out of the corner of his eye. Nicky stared back at him, eyes shadowed, his beautiful mouth set in a thin grimace. And yet he didn’t press the emergency buttons on the cases. He didn’t scream for security. He just watched Joe climb up from the floor to the ceiling, dangling like a spider on a silk thread while holding his bag to his chest, cradling it and the jade mask inside like it was a baby.

“Think of me as Robin Hood,” Joe grunted as he pulled himself up the rope, “If that helps you grapple with the moral blight that is the aftershocks of European colonialism.”

“I only implied that you were legally in the wrong, you know. Not ethically,” Nicky finally said, just loud enough for Joe to hear him over the slide of the rope over metal. “You are lucky the cameras are out, you know.”

Bless Booker, really. Joe jotted down a mental note to buy Booker a drink tomorrow before he and Andy hopped on their flight to Mexico City. Booker said he was going to meet up with his wife and kids for spring break in Lyon next week, and Joe wondered, briefly, if he should volunteer to take the mask himself and give Booker a bit of a break.

“What can I say? I’m a lucky man,” Joe told Nicky, and his little disbelieving scoff was as endearing as his quiet laughter. Oh, Joe was sunk. He was _damned_ a thousand times over, wasn’t he? But he looked down at Nicky, standing by the display case that held the fake mask, and he waved at him after he clambered out of the skylight and onto the roof proper. Everything was going to plan.

“Hope we can have another conversation soon,” Joe called down from the roof. “You’re quite the surprise, you know.”

“Wait! I-” Nicky glowered up at him. “Fine. We’ll talk. Soon.” Joe nodded and shut the window of the skylight, latching it into place. He spared Nicky one final glance and wave before undoing all the knots and retrieving his climbing equipment. He descended down the fire escape and raced down a back alley until he made it to the unmarked van where Andy and Booker were waiting. Joe hopped into the back, shut it, and buckled himself into his seat. As Andy drove away from the museum, Joe let out a sigh of relief and yanked his bandana off his face, letting it dangle around his neck as he took a deep breath of fresh, cool air.

“And what,” Booker asked softly, his voice filled with barely contained disgust, “the actual fuck was _that_?”

“... fuck,” Joe muttered, and Andy barked out a short, sharp laugh.

“Oh, yes, Joe. Fuck indeed,” she replied, and they drove off into the misty English night.


	3. Chapter 3

Nicky was many things, but he was not an idiot. He recognized a voice when he heard it, and he definitely recognized the dulcet, low tones of one Dr. Yusuf al-Kaysani, even when he was muffled by fabric and clearly under some duress. He knew that voice, and it wasn’t as if Joe really put any effort in his disguise. A plain dark baseball cap, sunglasses, and a bandana? Really? Irritation bubbled up in Nicky like a geyser, and it took all of his considerable self control to push those feelings down and lock them away. Anger wouldn’t help him unravel the mystery that lay in front of him. He needed clarity. He needed to _focus_!

Why would a world famous art historian and archeologist steal artifacts from museums? Money, obviously, but the disdain that dripped from Joe’s voice when Nicky sarcastically brought up the black market told him that money wasn’t the reason behind these thefts. The challenge of the thieving, then. Thrill-seeking. But then why steal? There were all sorts of absurd things Joe could do to seek an adrenaline high. Like rock climbing. Or skydiving. Or wrestling alligators in Florida. But those were all legal (at least, Nicky was almost certain they were legal). Maybe the thrill came from breaking laws? From confounding the police and making a name for himself in yet another field? But that didn’t seem right either. Or, at least, that wasn’t all it was. None of these theories sat right with Nicky, all of them a discordant jumble of jagged edges that didn’t quite fit together properly. Nicky wondered what he was missing to solve this puzzle.

The only conclusion that made sense, he thought, was that Joe told him the truth. Joe told Nicky the absolute truth while he was dangling from that rope with a priceless artifact wrapped up in his arms like it was his child. Joe, Dr. Yusuf al-Kaysani, was a thief with a heart of gold, doing wrong in order to undo greater wrongs. It was absurd, like something out of a folktale. It was utterly ridiculous!

It sounded exactly like something Joe would do.

So now what? It had been a week, and Nicky hadn’t spoken with or texted Joe during that time. Joe hadn’t texted him either, so either he was busy covering his tracks and dealing with the stolen mask, or he was avoiding a difficult conversation. Possibly both. Definitely both, Nicky thought with a grimace. It wasn’t like Joe could abscond with a priceless treasure one day and then show up at his door the next and take him out for coffee! There was a secret part of Nicky that would have loved that, though. It was like the ridiculous plot of some rom-com, where Things happened for Reasons, but Nicky lived in reality. He had to be practical. So, what now?

What could Nicky even do with this secret that weighed on him like a millstone? Every time he passed the Meso-American room his mind flashed back to that night and the scene that he stumbled upon. He remembered the tender way Joe cradled the mask in his hands, the care he took to make sure everything was undisturbed. Nicky remembered his calm, even when he was obviously surprised by Nicky’s appearance. He didn’t know what possessed him to speak up, to interfere in a robbery- he could have been shot. Killed! But he saw that shadow looming over the case, saw the little puff of curly dark hair poking out of the hole of that stupid baseball cap, and Nicky stepped into the room and confronted a thief! Well. Joe. Dr. al-Kaysani. Who was, technically, a thief.

Nicky didn’t know who to turn to. He could speak to Qùynh, but she’d want to do something: confront al-Kaysani, get to the bottom of it all, possibly call the authorities. Nicky wasn’t ready for that. He wasn’t prepared for whatever fallout would come from the confrontation. Lykon, Qùynh’s friend, former legal partner, and current travel writer and photographer, wasn’t a close friend. He was more of a “go out for drinks and exchange Christmas cards” type of friend, not a “confide deep, dark secrets” friend. Besides, he had just gone off to Siberia to go hiking through the tundra and write articles about it. All of Nicky’s college friends would say “go to the police,” which was utterly useless advice. Nicky could not prove what he saw, and he really, really didn’t want to get the law involved. If he thought, truly believed, that this was about money, Nicky would have alerted security immediately. But he had doubts. So many doubts. And those doubts stopped him that night and now.

And as for his family? Well, they wouldn’t understand. Couldn’t begin to understand this dilemma. So Nicky turned to the one soul who would listen to him ramble without judgement or offers of advice.

“Ah, Callisto,” Nicky groaned. “I’m an idiot.”

Callisto gave him her signature rusty trill of a meow, then batted at a dust mote in the air. Nicky sighed and turned the bread dough sitting like a sad lump on the floured counter and started kneading it. It was a sunny Saturday morning, and Nicky was stress baking bread to try and work through his feelings. The dough was extremely overworked from kneading, proof of the turmoil he was working through.

“No one will believe me, Callisto, and that’s the trouble,” Nicky explained to his cat. She jumped from the kitchen table to the floor, then jumped up to the counter to watch him. Her white tipped tail twitched back and forth as her big green eyes focused on his hands.

“I hardly believe it, but-” he sighed and took out a rolling pin, “I know his voice. It was him in the museum.” It was a shock to hear Joe’s voice come out of that shadowy figure’s mouth, but he didn’t disguise himself well. At least, he hadn’t disguised himself well enough to not be recognized by Nicky. He moved with the same confidence as he had in the daytime during his talk. Nicky recognized Joe, recognized his voice, his mannerisms, and even the passion behind his clipped reply (“It’s what’s _right_.”)

And Nicky couldn’t deny that he found the way Joe’s muscles moved underneath that thin black shirt as he climbed up that rope to be very, very attractive. It was just a competency boner, as Qùynh would tell him. Seeing Joe do something with great skill was attractive, even if it was him slowly rappelling up a rope while carrying a jade mask wrapped up in padding and stuffed into a backpack. But Nicky was not a liar. He also found Joe physically attractive, and may have daydreamed a moment where Joe utilized those muscles to lift him out of a skylight. Very dramatic. Very romantic. Very, _very_ inappropriate, considering everything Nicky knew about the man now.

“I want to believe he’s doing it for the right reasons, you see, but I’m not _certain_ ,” Nicky informed Callisto. “I’ve looked at all these recent stories of thefts, all the missing art and artifacts from museums these past few years. And… well, there are stories of these artifacts, some of these artifacts, showing up months later in other museums. Dropped off in the middle of the night in archival rooms. Undamaged. Appearing like magic. I just…” Nicky sighed against and pressed his floured hands against his face. Given the facts that he had, and based on his knowledge of Yusuf al-Kaysani, of _Joe_ , Nicky drew two separate conclusions.

Conclusion A: Dr. Yusuf al-Kaysani, also known as Joe, was a thief and a consummate liar who could not be trusted, and he was stealing artifacts from museums for some thrills and money while returning some to cover his tracks. He was a skilled thief and an incredible liar who managed to maintain an outward persona of academic professionalism without anyone catching onto his looting of museums, and no one would ever believe Nicky, a random archivist in Liverpool, if he revealed Joe’s double life to the world.

Conclusion B: Joe told Nicky the truth, both during their lunch... date(?), and that night at the museum.

Nicky didn’t know what to believe. But he was going mad sitting around and brooding over the topic, and he couldn’t even bring himself to go to confession and unburden his soul just yet. God knew how he felt, anyways, and He saw Nicky’s confusion and all of his doubts even without the intercession of a priest. A little spiritual guidance would be welcome, though. He felt as if he was fumbling blindly along a dark path, and there was only one way out. All Nicky had to do was figure out what he was going to say to Joe if they saw each other again.

“As if it is that simple,” Nicky grumbled, pressing his rolling pin deep into the soft dough.

“Mreeow?” Callisto mewed, and Nicky looked down at his overly flattened dough, then at Callisto’s giant, round head. Her little white mitten paws were firmly planted in the middle of his raw bread dough. She lifted one paw and batted at his nose, and Nicky laughed, truly laughed, for what felt like the first time all week.

“Oh, bambina, you are a treasure,” Nicky picked his cat up and cradled her to his chest, pressing his lips to the little flat part of her head and kissing it firmly. Callisto made an irritated trilling noise, so Nicky set her back down on the floor to inspect the damage to the bread dough. There were her two little pawprints in the dough, just like- Nicky laughed again and took a picture before searching for the picture of the Roman roof tile with the cat paw prints embedded in the clay.

“Cats. Always the same,” Nicky mumbled as he tweeted the side by side comparison of his dough and the clay tile. Almost as an afterthought he scooped Callisto in his arms again, snapped a quick selfie, and added it to the tweet.

“I suppose I have to start over now,” he informed Callisto, who only mewed and returned to rolling about on the floor and chasing after a twist tie. There were a few comments and retweets that trickled in, pinging on his phone until he silenced it, but Nicky mixed up a new batch of dough and set it aside to rise before washing up and flopping back down on his couch. He mindlessly scrolled through his twitter feed until another notification popped up from- Nicky almost dropped his phone on his face when Dr. Yusuf al-Kaysani’s name came up.

Joe liked his tweet. A week of silence, and he liked a tweet?! Was he- Nicky checked, and no, Joe wasn’t following his twitter. He hadn’t somehow missed that during this emotional crisis of a week. Nile Freeman, however, was following him, and she retweeted his tweet and commented “Cute!” But back to Joe. Nicky took a deep breath, got off twitter, and opened his phone contacts. Text or phone call, he debated as he stared at the number. Text or phone call? Text or- his finger slipped, perhaps an accident, perhaps destiny, and he was calling Joe.

“Hello? Nicky?” Joe’s voice came through the speaker, crisp and clear and just a little concerned.

“I, ah. I was going to text?” Nicky replied weakly. “We need to talk.”

“Never a good turn of phrase,” Joe quipped back. “Am I in trouble?”

“... I don’t think so,” Nicky said. “At least, not at the moment. But the- last week. At the museum.”

“Oh,” Joe sounded like he had been punched in the gut, and Nicky was only a little ashamed of the rush of smug pleasure that coursed through him at the sound. Did Joe think he was a meek little mouse who wouldn’t push for answers?

“You can’t honestly think I didn’t recognize you,” Nicky scoffed.

“... it was a vague hope,” Joe admitted.

“You are a very distinctive person, Dr. Yusuf al-Kaysani,” Nicky retorted. “And you didn’t exactly hide your voice, you know.”

“So… what now? You turn me in? Go to the police?” Joe asked, and Nicky rolled his eyes.

“I haven’t decided,” he said, sounding smoother and far more confident than he actually felt. “I don’t… I’ve been looking up some of the suspicious museum thefts from this past year. The ones that have been reported, at least. And some of them seem to fit you. Your style, that is. And some of these artifacts…” Nicky trailed off as he thought of some of these missing items and some of the places they disappeared from.

“Yes?” Joe asked carefully.

“You stole from that ridiculous Bible museum in America?” Nicky asked, because if Joe had he was going to throw caution and good sense to the wind and kiss the man square on the mouth the next time they met.

“I can neither confirm nor deny. At least, not over the phone,” Joe replied slyly, and Nicky took that as a yes. It sounded impossible, but he couldn’t help but believe that this, that Joe, was real. He stole papyrus scroll fragments and a crucifix. The fragments hadn’t turned up anywhere as of yet, but they would doubtless appear soon enough, perhaps in a private collector’s stash or in another museum. The crucifix ended up in a small museum in Santorini, once again delivered under the cover of night in mysterious circumstances. Like magic. Or, Nicky amended thoughtfully, like Joe.

“I can be in town by tomorrow if you want. We can have lunch?” Joe offered suddenly, as if they weren’t dancing around the topic of him stealing priceless artifacts from museums- a Robin Hood-esque figure, he called himself, and while Nicky was going to hold back his judgement for now he hoped that Joe was telling him the truth. He wanted to believe it.

“I can do lunch,” Nicky replied. “Meet you at the train station at noon?” He didn’t believe that he’d get a response, but Joe’s quiet laughter filled his ears.

“Of course. And Nicky?” Joe said his name softly, in a way that made Nicky want to curl up and hear it again and again from his mouth.

“Yes?” he murmured, a smile forming on his face before he could stop himself.

“I’ll tell you whatever you want to know. I promise.” 

-

Contrary to Booker and Andy’s (overstated) opinions, Joe could be sensible. He wasn’t dashing into this Sunday lunch with Nicky completely blindfolded. He’d done his research. He was being careful. He had an exit strategy. Several exit strategies! He was a sensible man, after all, and sensible men didn’t walk headlong into traps. But after the heist where he was discovered, Andy enacted her own plan to keep Joe safe (from Nicky or from himself, it couldn’t be said). She went to Mexico alone with the jade mask, and assigned Booker to keep an eye on Joe until she got back. It was hard to tell who was less thrilled by the assignment, but Booker was easier to reason with than Andy. A few promises to be careful and a solemn oath not to complain if he was arrested, and Booker agreed that Joe could go to Liverpool unsupervised to meet with Nicky. He agreed, yes, but Joe could tell he wasn’t happy about it.

“Joe, you are several shades of idiot,” Booker grumbled as Joe waited on the train platform that would take him to Liverpool, and then… well. Doom or salvation seemed a little dramatic, but Joe was inclined to dramatics at the moment. Nicolò di Genova and his big blue green eyes brought that out in him.

“It’s just lunch,” Joe assured him. “I’ll be back in London tonight, and you and Andy can call and chew me out all you like then.” Like they hadn’t done that the moment he rolled into the van last week with the jade mask in tow. Booker shook his head and cursed under his breath while Andy scolded him for the entire drive- four hours of “Fucking Baby Jesus Christ, Joe, were you thinking or just thinking with the little head? That was flirting, honest to God _flirting_ in front of a WITNESS!”

She wasn’t wrong. But she also didn’t see the way Nicky looked at him that night, a barely restrained storm in his eyes as he questioned him.

“You are meeting with a man who _caught you stealing_. From his workplace!” Booker explained slowly, as if Joe was a child.

“For a good reason!” Joe said defensively. Yes, he fucked up and got caught, but he’d gotten out somehow, right? And, more importantly, Nicky had not ratted him out. It meant something. Joe was certain of it.

“Putain de merde, Joe, this isn’t a pen or a stapler! This is serious!” Booker exclaimed.

“And so am I,” Joe retorted, but he dropped the flippant attitude when he saw Booker’s irritation twist into a worried grimace.

“I know this isn’t reassuring, that you don’t trust easily, but Nicky- I have a good feeling about him,” Joe shrugged. He couldn’t explain it, but there was something about Nicky that put Joe at ease. He had a serenity to him, a sort of steadiness that, even when he was angry, kept him calm and measured. And when he saw that tweet yesterday with the bread dough and that giant headed black and white cat, when he saw Nicky cradling that massive creature with flour smudged across his forehead and a fond, loving smile on his face, when he read those words-

_Eons may pass, but cats never change._

So Joe was a little smitten. Nicky was worth a few reckless decisions!

“Andy’s right. You’re thinking with your dick,” Booker said bluntly, shattering Joe’s reminiscing. “You’re thinking with your dick and you’re going to get us all arrested.”

“You won’t believe me, but I think Nicky was impressed with the job in America,” Joe said, keeping his voice light and soft as more people 

“What job?” Booker asked, looking like he’d rather be anywhere else.

“The, uh… you know. That museum with all the shaky artifact acquisitions?” When Booker gave him a pitying, exasperated look, Joe sighed.

“The Museum of the Bible,” he whispered, and oh how it pained him to call that blight a museum! As the train pulled into the station, Joe made sure he had his ticket and a book to pass the time away, and he opened his arms to give Booker a goodbye hug. Booker embraced him, patting his back firmly and rocking back and forth. They may argue and bicker, and Booker was not happy about this recent development concerning Nicky, but in the end they were brothers at heart.

“If that impressed him he is easily impressed,” Booker said as they pulled away from each other. “Fine, go on your lunch date, and call me if you’re arrested. Andy and I will work something out, even though she’s still in Mexico and tomorrow I’m flying to Lyon. You might have to cool your heels in a cell for a few days if your Nicky isn’t as impressed with you as you think. But it would do you some good. Build character.”

“Promise you’ll get me out eventually, though?” Joe asked.

“Promise,” Booker sighed. “You big romantic idiot.”

“You are worth your weight in gold, Booker. Have a good vacation, and say hello to Rochelle and the boys for me,” Joe said, partially because it was true and mostly because any amount of praise embarrassed Booker. Joe relished in the red flush to Booker’s cheeks and irritated expression that flashed on his face. He scratched at his scruffy beard and looked away, eyes hidden behind sunglasses.

“Yes, yes, they’ll be happy to hear from their beloved Oncle Joe, now get on your train, you romantic moron,” Booker ordered, and Joe hopped across the gap and onto the train.

“I’ll send a text and let you know how I’m doing,” Joe promised, and Booker waved him off. Joe settled into his seat, pulled out his book (a romance novel he purchased on a whim from the newsstand), and settled in for the two to three hour ride to Liverpool. He let himself get lost in the bright and spectacular world of immunologists, princes pretending to be paupers, and commentary about the NYC subway rats, Joe couldn’t help but stew over his phone conversation with Nicky and the few texts they exchanged. He knew. Nicky knew it was him in the museum, and he hadn’t told the police. Probably because it would sound ridiculous, but Joe hoped it was because Nicky saw Joe’s perspective, that he agreed with him, that maybe, just maybe, he approved of him. Joe wanted Nicky to like him with a desperation that made him feel foolish, and he frowned.

“I won’t hang my sense of self-worth and purpose on one man’s approval,” Joe muttered. The old woman who sat across from him clicked her tongue without missing a stitch of her knitting. Her short, wispy curls were dyed a bright tangerine orange, and her wizened fingers nimbly wove the hot pink yarn she held into the neon zig zag stripes that ran down the scarf she was knitting.

“Quite so, dear,” she replied. “Relationship problems?”

“Something like that,” Joe replied. “That’s a lovely scarf.”

“It’s for my great-niece. And any man who wouldn’t approve of you should be smacked across the back of their foolish head,” she made that firm tsk-tsk sound with her tongue again and fixed Joe with her dark brown eyes.

“Now, tell me all about this man,” she ordered imperiously. “I love gossip, and we have a good hour to burn.”

The old woman’s name was Iris, and she was originally from, of all places, New York City. But she moved to London as a teenager and settled there, got married, had kids and now grandchildren. She was heading to Liverpool to meet with her in laws (“Husband’s brother’s side, bless ‘em.”), and she packed her bag full of knitting and treats for everyone there. Iris was full of stories and advice, and there was the familiar gleam of a well-seasoned matchmaker in her eyes when Joe spoke of Nicky.

“He’s brilliant, truly brilliant. He has this way of cutting through complex topics and getting to the heart of it all- he’s probably the one shining light in the cesspool that is Twitter,” Joe pulled out his phone and showed Iris Nicky’s profile, and she hummed with approval.

“Good looking, too,” she remarked. “No wonder you want him to like you.” Joe laughed and slipped his phone back into his jacket pocket before nervously running a hand through his hair.

“I’m not expecting anything. We only met a week ago,” Joe explained. “But I’d like to get to know him better. It’s been a while since… well, with work and all, finding someone has been a challenge.”

“Oh, Joe,” Iris tsked again. “I swear, you young men are all the same, all of you are just… oh, what’s the word... workaholics! Yes, that’s it. You work too hard, ignore everything else in your life, and then you’re blindsided when something comes along and wrecks all those plans you had!” She laughed and leaned over to pat Joe’s shoulder with one wrinkled, soft hand.

“Go. Have your lunch. Make time for yourself,” she suggested. “And if this Nicky is worth the effort, you’ll know. And he’ll know. You’ll work something out. Charm him with a smile, sweep him off his feet. But that’s just my advice. Advice from an old lady, if you’ll have it.”

“I’m glad for it, Iris. Hopefully I won’t screw it up, hmm?” Joe replied. Iris’ laugh filled the compartment, and Joe relaxed completely in his seat. Whatever happened would happen, and he’d pick up the pieces from there. All Joe had to do was trust Nicky.

And trusting Nicky was as easy as breathing.

Liverpool was full of sunshine, and Joe had to shade his eyes with his hand as he exited the train and stepped onto the platform. He couldn’t believe that just last week the entire city was covered in grey rain clouds and wet! Iris teetered behind him before carefully hopping the gap, taking Joe’s offered hand in the process.

“Ah, and there’s my great-niece, here to pick me up! Tori? Tori, love! Hello!” Iris yelled and waved to a tall teenage girl wearing an oversized black hoodie and jeans, her reddish-blonde hair tied up in a tail. She straightened her back and turned her face towards them. Her eyes widened in surprise as she took in the sight of her aunt, her eyes lingering on her aunt’s bright hair.

“Auntie Iris?” Tori squeaked. “Oh, uh. Hi, sir.” Joe waved hello, though he was already scanning the station for a glimpse of Nicky. As he looked around, Iris cheerfully introduced him to her great-niece.

“This is Joe. He’s a professor in London and he kept me company during the train ride. So, what d’you think?” Iris patted her tangerine curls with one hand and smiled brightly.

“Aunt Iris, your hair is _orange!_ ” Tori exclaimed. “When did you dye it _orange_?!”

“I heard that your father was angry about you wanting to dye your hair,” Iris frowned mightily at that. “So we’ll show him what’s what and set him straight, won’t we, dear? And next time you see me in London we can go to my stylist and talk with him about having your hair done!”

“Aunt Iris, da’s gonna be pi- angry,” Tori replied. “He’s already mad that I got an undercut, I shouldn’t push it further.”

“Maybe I’ll get a tattoo as well. Always wanted a tattoo, very daring. I think I’d like an owl. Lovely creatures, owls,” Iris said cheerfully. “Oh, Joe, I think that’s your handsome man over there by the bench. Have a good lunch date, won’t you? Remember what I told you.”

“Make it work, sweep him off his feet,” Joe recited. “Got it.”

“Very good, dear. Come along, Tori, we’ve got to be back home in time for lunch!” Iris announced loudly, dragging her great niece away, but Joe wasn’t paying attention. He looked at the bench and caught sight of Nicky, and the rest of the world melted away into the muted background as Nicky unfolded his long legs and casually strode towards him. The sun gleamed in his brown hair, his eyes were bright and blue, and he was- he looked- happy to see him.

“I have to know. That Bible Museum heist. That was you?” Nicky demanded when he was finally close enough to touch, and Joe laughed. 

“Not even a hello?” he asked, and Nicky shook his head even as he smiled. He fought that smile, Joe could see the war between the thin line of his mouth and the merriment dancing in his eyes, but Nicky’s good humor won the battle in the end.

“Joe. I am serious. Was it you?” Nicky asked sternly, and what else could Joe do in the face of such earnestness but confess?

“Partner job. Friend of mine grabbed the crucifix, another friend and I collected the parchment fragments,” Joe murmured. “We’re still looking for a safe place to donate those to, but at least the cruci-hmmphf!”

The rest of what he planned to say was swallowed up by Nicky’s mouth on his, hot and insistent, a hard clash of lips and teeth that Joe would have never expected, could never anticipated from a man who was so gentle, so mild-mannered- and it was perfectly Nicky, wasn’t it? Always surprising, layers upon layers, a tempest and the calm that came afterwards.

“I told myself that I’d kiss you if you were really behind that,” Nicky whispered against Joe’s mouth. “I won’t make myself a liar.”

“If I tell you more will you kiss me again?” Joe asked, feeling desperate and out of breath, as if he had run a marathon in under a minute.

“We’ll see,” Nicky said. “Lunch first.”

-

Lunch was a quiet affair between them, with polite inquiries about how their weeks had gone. Nicky didn’t mention any thieving, Joe didn’t start the conversation, and the two of them danced around who would break the ice while eating pho. Just when Nicky was about to crack and demand answers, Joe sighed and set his card down on the table.

“We’ll split the check,” Joe offered. “Or I can pay this round, and you can take care of the next lunch.”

“You seem confident that there will be another lunch,” Nicky retorted. Joe’s mouth stretched into a smug smirk, one that was frustratingly, damnably attractive. Joe had a little dimple there in the corner of his mouth that made him all the more human and all the more desirable. It made him less unattainable, less forbidden, and Nicky’s lips tingled from the memory of Joe’s soft breath against his face, his lips on his lips, the way his beard tickled his skin, the flutter of his eyelashes on his cheek.

“I told you that I’m a lucky man,” Joe replied. “I hope that my luck will hold.” He flashed Nicky a small smile, and the little edge of cocky confidence made Nicky want to paradoxically laugh and shake the man by the shoulders. He was an art historian and archeologist who stole artifacts from museums and private collectors. Then he dropped those artifacts off like they were foundlings on the steps of other museums! And here Joe was, smiling at him and offering to pick up the lunch tab if Nicky picked up the next one. There shouldn’t be a next time. Nicky should just walk out and leave Dr. Yusuf “Joe” al-Kaysani with the bill. He should contact authorities. And yet…

“Next time I pay,” Nicky said, and Joe’s small smile turned up in intensity. “But you’ll have to keep up your part of the bargain, Dr. al-Kaysani.”

“Of course,” Joe replied easily. “I’m a man of my word. Why don’t we take a walk through the park and talk?”

It was a surreal walk through the park in the late spring sunshine. Joe talked and Nicky listened, asking questions when Joe fell silent, pressing him further. As the conversation continued, as Joe confessed to various thefts (some that Nicky guessed, some that were surprising, some that made him want to laugh), Nicky grew more and more convinced that Joe was telling the truth. Not the complete truth. He did not, for example, implicate his associates, and he didn’t detail break-in methods or talk shop, as it were. But even without these details Joe wove an intriguing tale full of action, drama, and trying to make things right in a world where right and wrong was so easily blurred.

“... we still don’t talk about São Paulo,” Joe confessed as they passed by an elderly couple feeding pigeons frozen peas. The spring sunshine tinted every aspect of Joe with gold. Nicky walked next to him, shoulder to shoulder, step in step. Every time their hands brushed against each other their fingers tangled together, and the heat of it spread up Nicky’s arm and through his body until all of him was warmer than he ever could remember being.

“And somehow you managed to escape,” Nicky murmured.

“We got lucky and planned our trip during Carnival,” Joe explained. “With all the noise and drinking and partying no one noticed us fumbling around with the broken down van or the pottery. And it was partially my fault, really. I should have visited the museum earlier and gotten all my sight seeing in then.” Joe added that comment with a somewhat sheepish shrug and smile, his deep brown eyes bright with unrepentant mischief, and Nicky knew at that moment he could never betray this man.

“What had you so distracted, hmm? Was it Hieronymus Bosch?” he asked. Joe paused thoughtfully, looking over the little pond in the park and watching the ducks as they gracefully glided over the water. Then he smiled and reached out to take Nicky’s hand in his own. He rubbed his thumb over Nicky’s knuckles, a constant, soothing motion that made Nicky want to lean into Joe’s warmth.

“It was a painting of St. Sebastian,” Joe said with a chuckle. “Why do artists always make him so… sexy?” He lifted Nicky’s hand and firmly pressed his lips to Nicky’s knuckles, and Nicky’s heart skipped a beat. Several beats.

“Eroticism of the divine?” Nicky suggested breathlessly. “I can’t believe you stopped in the middle of a heist to admire the artwork.”

“I will always stop to admire art,” Joe murmured. “You’d make a fine St. Sebastian, Nicky. You have soulful eyes.”

“Blasphemy,” Nicky accused, keeping his tone light. Flippant. What he really meant was ‘flatterer,’ and Nicky was eternally grateful when Joe gifted him with one of his beatific smiles that made the world a little brighter and more wondrous than before.

“The moment I saw you in the hotel ballroom I wanted to sketch you,” Joe confessed. “I had to borrow a student’s pencil and make the best of it. My lecture notes are covered with your profile, Nicolò di Genova.” There was something magical about Joe saying his name, his full name, and it wasn’t just because he managed to pronounce it correctly. No, there was something else about Joe’s voice, the way he cradled every syllable, savored them, made music of it, that made Nicky feel special, somehow. Treasured.

“As St. Sebastian?” Nicky teased, and Joe softly nudged his side with his elbow.

“If that would please you I’d do it,” Joe said, sincerity coloring every word. Nicky looked over at Joe, who was staring at his face with open… admiration? It was soft, it was kind, it was- it was far too soon to call it love, but it was something that was close to it. Nicky quickly looked away to watch the ducks swimming and diving into the water.

“If you wish to sketch me, do so. It… I’m flattered. Immensely,” Nicky mumbled, and when Joe squeezed his hand he squeezed back.

“So,” Joe said softly. “I think that’s everything. At least, everything I can tell you about me.”

“Yes,” Nicky agreed.

“And?” The question was a whisper, and the hoarseness in Joe’s voice betrayed his nerves and hurt Nicky’s heart. Here it was: this most difficult part of the conversation. He had been dreading it all week, couldn’t sleep last night because it was looming before him like a storm cloud, and now? Now it was here.

“I don’t know,” Nicky murmured. “Joe, I- you know how I feel about… about returning artifacts to their homelands, their people.”

“You’ve made your feelings clear, yes,” Joe replied. “I am fortunate that it was you who caught me last week, and not one of your colleagues.”

“I can’t disapprove of what you did. Do. We are in agreement, I think,” Nicky said. “But I’m not thrilled about the stealing.”

“Unless it’s a crucifix and scraps of papyrus from that _one_ museum,” Joe retorted, lifting one eyebrow to pin Nicky with a skeptical gaze. Hypocrite, that eyebrow said, and Nicky flushed with the shame of it because Joe was _right_.

“An exception. One,” Nicky sighed and shook his head. “I know you are doing what you think is right, that you’re doing what you can to make things better. But it is- I’ve heard these sorts of arguments before, Joe, all about the ends justifying the means.”

“You’ve tangled with more than one noble thief in your archives and museums, Nicky? I’m impressed,” Joe remarked, voice dry, and Nicky wished he had the willpower to yank his hand away, to tell Joe off, to demand he not be sarcastic, to demand he be taken seriously, but one look at Joe’s face halted his rage. Joe may have quipped, he may have sounded flippant, but his eyes were clear and serious, and his hand was warm and firm in his own. Joe’s touch and gaze steadied Nicky in a way nothing ever had before. He was listening. He was paying attention. Nicky breathed in deeply and started over. Being angry at Joe would solve nothing, and Nicky desperately wanted to fix things, make it all fit and make sense in his world. One week, and Dr. Yusuf al-Kaysani managed to turn his quiet, boring life as an archivist in Liverpool completely on its head.

“You want to know what comes next, Joe? Nothing. Where would I even start? I can’t reveal your double life or stop you without compromising my own ideals,” Nicky explained quietly. “And I can’t even hate you for that. I rather… I admire your work.” He was _impressed_ by it. Impressed by Joe. He was knowledgeable. Funny. Dedicated. Joe was more than willing to put everything he worked for at risk in order to follow his heart, his own moral code, and Nicky liked Joe all the better for it. If only it didn’t make Nicky’s advocacy work harder!

“All your work,” he added when Joe opened his mouth to speak. “Even this. I like you far more than I should, Yusuf al-Kaysani.”

“I’d kiss you if I didn’t think you’d rip my head off,” Joe confessed breathlessly. “You’re magnificent when you’re angry. Did you know your eyes are like the sea? Ever changing.”

“You are an incorrigible flirt,” Nicky retorted, and Joe laughed. The sound was weak, as if he couldn’t quite catch his breath or believe what he heard, but it was still a genuine laugh. It seemed that everything about Joe was genuine.

“I prefer to think of myself as a romantic,” he said, squeezing Nicky’s hand before pulling him away from the pond. They walked in silence through the park, past children running and playing, past families and other couples, past birds and people walking their dogs. The silence was not oppressive, no longer filled with dread of the unknown. It was almost peaceful. And then Joe opened his mouth and spoke.

“So now that I know that you won’t be turning me in, what about us?” he asked.

“Hmm?”

“You don’t strike me as the type to kiss men you don’t like, Nicky,” Joe said. “And I don’t just flirt with anyone, you know. You’re a special case, Nicolò.”

“Am I now?” Nicky asked, and he was sure the parish priest in his old church back home in Genoa would have had a lecture that would blister his ears about vanity and pride, and the importance of virtues like humility, but Nicky liked a little bit of ego stroking every once in a while. He was, after all, only human, and flirting with Joe (and having him flirt back) was a delight.

“I would like to see you again, Nicky,” Joe confessed, turning towards him and taking both of Nicky’s hands in his own. “I’d like to kiss you again and have you buy me lunch and debate everything from philosophy to art to all of our ethical stumbling blocks, if you’ll have me.”

“That… that is a lot,” Nicky whispered. “You want so much, Yusuf al-Kaysani.”

Joe grinned. “I want everything. But only if you’re offering.”

“This is fast,” Nicky eventually said, because what else could be said? One week ago Joe didn’t even know he existed, and now he wanted… everything was a lot to ask. It was frightening. What was truly frightening, however, was the desperate longing clawing out of Nicky’s chest. Joe might want him, but the wanting within Nicky was ravenous. He needed to pull away. Needed to figure himself out without Joe’s magnetic presence pulling him to his side.

“Give me time,” Nicky said weakly. “Can you- it feels greedy to ask for this, but I need time.”

“Is it guilt, or are you letting me down easy?” Joe guessed. There was a trace of sorrow in his voice, and Nicky hated himself for putting it there.

“No. It is… saying it’s not you, it’s me isn’t right. It’s more…” Nicky sighed. “I am no good with words, Joe.” He never had been. He never had trouble speaking, but he was not delicate or careful in his speech. Nicky had always spoken plainly. Bluntly. His sense of humor was as dry as a desert, and there was a time in his life where he could not go through a day without starting an argument with someone because he could not find the words to navigate around a disagreement. The point was that Nicky was no good with words, but he had to try now. Joe was… important. Joe deserved words.

“I think you’re alright with them, but do you need my help?” Joe asked patiently. Nicky shook his head, but tightly held onto Joe’s hands. Joe, to his credit, waited. Eventually Nicky gathered himself enough that he could finally say something intelligible.

“I want to make sure this isn’t me being star-struck,” he finally said. “I’ve admired your work and you for so long that I worry it has blinded me from being… objective. I worry that I like you for the man you are in public, and not the entire picture.”

“Ah, my papers on ceramics have won and lost me my muse,” Joe said, a wry smile twisting his face. Nicky frowned. He wanted to wipe that little twist away with a word, with a kiss, but words were clumsy in his mouth and kisses seemed wrong considering what he just said. So words were all he had, even though he used them like they were a cudgel.

“You’re entirely too charming for your own good, Joe,” he scolded, but even that reproof was gentle. Joe’s little grimace smoothed out into a small, pleased smile, though, so Nicky was fairly confident that he said the right thing for once.

“I want to keep speaking with you. I want to know you- Dr. Yusuf al-Kaysani, Joe, and everything in between,” he murmured. “I won’t demand you wait for me, but I need time to learn about you. Learn how we could fit together.”

“The liberation and repatriation of artifacts is a part of me, Nicky. You’re not going to pretend that isn’t me, right?” Joe asked. His voice was soft, strained, raw hope coloring his words, and Nicky wanted to gather the man up in his arms and promise him that everything would turn out well. But he didn’t. Instead he squeezed Joe’s hands and hoped it would provide him a modicum of reassurance.

“If you want philosophical debates about your life choices, Joe, that’s an excellent topic of conversation,” Nicky replied. That remark drew a deep, hearty laugh from Joe that warmed Nicky all the way down to his toes. Joe pressed his forehead against Nicky’s and sighed.

“Waiting for you will be worth it. I can tell,” Joe said firmly, like it was a fact written into the very fabric of the universe.

“You sound confident,” Nicky murmured.

“Hopeful,” Joe corrected. He pulled away from Nicky, letting go of his hands and shoving them into his jacket pockets. Nicky immediately missed the warmth of his touch, but didn’t chase after him. He wasn’t the only one who needed space, after all.

“So, where to?” Joe asked cheerfully. “I’m sure there’s more we can discuss before I hop back on the train to London.” Nicky fell into step beside him, their arms barely brushing against each other, perfectly in sync as they walked down the path together.

“There’s an art supply store nearby,” he said casually. “And you’ve made me curious. I’d like to see your work.” Nicky relished in Joe’s bright smile and little scoff.

“As if I don’t travel without a sketchbook,” Joe retorted. He reached into his satchel and pulled out a worn spiral sketchbook with a tattered cover.

“Let’s sit on that bench over there by the oak tree,” he suggested. “I’ll sketch, and we can discuss our many moral failings. Perhaps you can tell me what drove you out of seminary and into the open arms of archival work, hmm?”

“A fair trade,” Nicky replied. “You did confess to committing multiple international crimes, after all. Allegedly.”

“Ah, and you’re already cracking jokes,” Joe laughed. “I think we are on the road to reconciliation already, Nicky.”

Nicky couldn’t help but agree.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for reading this story so far! The romance novel Joe's reading is Alyssa Cole's "A Princess In Theory" from her Reluctant Royals series.


	4. Chapter 4

“So,” Andy lingered on the word as if she savored the feel of it on her tongue. “You’re still talking with your archivist. Who caught you stealing. From his museum.”

It was supposed to be a short flight from London to Malta, just about three hours with a stop-off in Monaco to re-fuel. Andy’s pilot friend, Maurice, was more than willing to turn a blind eye and deaf ear to whatever conversations happened in the backseat of his small plane due to whatever Andy did for him in the past (secrets Andy would take to the grave, Joe suspected). Maurice was a friendly old chap who kept his mouth shut and flew the plane, and never eavesdropped (or at least, he never let anyone know he was eavesdropping). In this case, however, Joe was fairly certain Maurice was hanging on every word as Andy chewed Joe out while Booker wisely kept his mouth shut. Joe shrugged and looked back at his phone, busy re-reading the email Nicky sent him last night.

“I’m wrapping up a week-long conference trip with Qùynh. We gave a talk about the non-profit! I believe it was successful, though I know I am an eternal optimist. But I truly believe that we’re getting somewhere with some of the traditionalists. People are listening. They’re changing their minds!” Nicky confided, and every time Joe read those words he hoped, prayed, that Nicky’s unflagging optimism wasn’t unfounded. How was it that the man could see the good in people, in the world, without fail? Perhaps it was, as Joe suspected, that Nicky did not see good so much as do good recklessly, dragging those around him into doing better with his mild tone and firm voice, inspiring everyone around him with his raw determination and powerful gaze.

“Nicky is a forgiving soul,” Joe informed Andy.

“Nicky is trouble,” she retorted. “Don’t think I haven’t noticed your lack of focus, Joe.”

“You have been distracted lately,” Booker chimed in, which wasn’t wise on his part. Andy turned her fierce gaze on him, and Booker slouched further in his seat.

“Don’t you start,” she warned him. “You were supposed to stop him back in March and you didn’t, Book. You don’t get to complain.”

“You think I could stop Joe from doing whatever he wants?” Booker asked, but Andy had already returned her attention to glaring at Joe. Joe steadfastly ignored the glare- he’d been doing that since the almost botched job in Liverpool. It was late June now, and Joe was practically an expert in ignoring Andy’s fiercest glowering.

“It’s a liability, Joe,” Andy said. “He’s a liability. What do you two even talk about?” Booker tilted his head back to stare up at the ceiling, a pained expression painted on his face. With Andy constantly hopping from city to city and country to country these past few months, Booker was the one who had to deal with Joe at his most starry-eyed, listening to him ramble on the phone as he drove his sons to football practice, or when he was at the grocers, or even while doing chores around the house. Even his wife and children knew about Oncle Joe’s kinda-boyfriend, and, as Booker informed him, they didn’t even know that Andy was married! The point was that Booker was heartily sick of hearing Joe talk about his “heartbreakingly beautiful archivist” and everything he and Joe talked about. Which he told Joe many times. Joe, however, ignored that, because who wouldn’t want to hear about Nicky? He was remarkable!

“No, no, don’t ask him that, Andy,” Booker groaned. “You haven’t seen it, you don’t kno-“

“Everything,” Joe sighed, happiness filling every corner of his body as he thought of his latest phone conversation with Nicky. “He’s brilliant, Andy, so brilliant. Passionate, too. And he cares so deeply about history, about connecting people to the past, about lifting up the unheard stories of the past. We only disagree over our methods, not the spirit behind it.”

Joe was far more merciful with Andy than he was with Booker. Booker was his brother in all but blood, but Andy would always be the boss. So, because it was Andy, Joe didn’t wax poetically over Nicky’s beautiful profile or the adorable expressions he made when he was confused or annoyed. He didn’t detail the softness that bloomed in Nicky’s eyes whenever he described his favorite artifacts in the archives (a young girl’s sewing sampler from the 1830s, a set of love letters between two soldiers fighting in WWII, a little dog statuette that came from the Fertile Crescent). He didn’t talk about Nicky’s ridiculous sock collection, or his penchant for hoodies and jackets and burying himself under layers of clothes. Joe was merciful and didn’t flaunt his love sickness for all the world to see, but Andy caught on anyways and shook her head.

“It wasn’t enough for you to think with your cock,” she sighed. “You just had to catch feelings for him, didn’t you?”

“If you met him you’d understand,” Joe explained. Nicky was fundamentally loveable, even when he was being a little shit, what with his sense of humor that could only be described as dry, or his ranting about the indignities of British cuisine (“They invade the rest of the world for their spices and decide not to use them! Joe, it is madness!”), or the way he threw himself into an argument, calm and collected and as immovable as a boulder. 

There was a kindness to Nicky, however, that made Joe grateful to Allah for putting him on this earth. Nicky researched dietary concerns and double checked, triple checked menus to let Joe know what was halal. His love of his menace of a cat, the monstrously large feline named Callisto, was proof of Nicky’s all-encompassing compassion- no one could love a cat that woke you up at 3 AM by screaming in your face unless you were Nicolò di Genova. And his patience, his understanding, the way he listened- Andy and Booker would love him, if they got to know him. Nile already loved him, always teasing him about his “man in Liverpool.”

(“It’s nice to see you happy, Joe,” she commented. “Nicky’s a real sweetheart.”)

This was why Nile was his favorite student, Joe thought. Former student. She was now Dr. Nile Freeman, and even though they were still working on the same campus the feeling was a little bittersweet. It was like watching a beloved younger sibling grow up and spread their wings. He would miss Nile’s frequent office visits, the sound of her trainers against linoleum as she crossed the hall with tepid coffee or tea in hand and thoughts resting on the tip of her tongue. He would miss her, even if she kept on teasing him over his pining. And she wasn’t the only one who noticed the sighs and smiles, the sketching and glances to his phone. His students were grateful that their already lenient professor was in a more generous mood than usual during the spring semester, and his fellows in the art history department were glad to see their overworked coworker finally appeared to be a little more relaxed. It seemed everyone noticed Joe’s change in temperament. Even his mother, thousands of miles away in Delft, recognized that something- more importantly, someone- had entered her son’s life.

(“Joe, you’re smiling so much more than you used to! When do I get to meet them? May I tell your father?” She asked during one of their calls. Joe hoped that the answer would one day be ‘soon.’ But he only smiled and promised to let his mother know if anything changed.)

“If big sad blue eyes do it for you you could have just fallen for Booker and pined uselessly over his blissfully married ass,” Andy grumbled. “It would be a lot easier on all of us.” Booker and Joe glanced at each other across the aisle and grimaced. Andy rolled her eyes and snorted before crossing her arms over her chest. She glowered out the window and the crystalline Mediterranean Sea, a shade akin to the deep blue of lapis lazuli. Joe sighed and turned in his seat to face Andy fully. Andy wasn’t happy, and it pained Joe to see it. It pained him to know that he had a hand in this sorrow, however inadvertent it was.

“I know you don’t like it, Andy, but I trust Nicky,” Joe said gently. “I hope you still trust me.”

“Oh, Joe. I trust you with my life, it’s just…” Andy waved her hand vaguely in the air. “Don’t like surprises.”

“If that’s the case, we better go over what’s happening when we land in Malta,” Booker interrupted. “Gala tomorrow night at the museum. Fundraising event for art preservation, so obviously Joe’s going inside since he got the invitation. Please remember to wear your suit, yes?”

“Of course,” Joe said with a nod. “I do know how to behave, you know.” Booker’s expression indicated that he didn’t believe Joe for an instant, but that he was too tired to argue with him this time.

Booker reached into his bag to pull out a tablet. He scrolled through his tabs until he found an article on the gala event Joe was going to attend. While he spent his time speaking and partying it up at the gala, Andy and Booker would take care of the groundwork- locate where the artifacts were stored in the auction house next door. Then they would check their documentation. Then, when they were done with that and Joe returned from the gala, they’d have to decide which artifacts they could manage to whisk away during the auction that was going to happen later in the week. Joe, meanwhile, would try to pry information from the other gala attendees, see if any of them were planning to attend the auction, and figure out what sort of artifacts they had their eyes on.

“We’re going to have to keep an eye on Stephen Merrick,” he added. “He’s still in the business of private collecting, though he’s selling this time around instead of buying. There seem to be a few other pieces in his collection he no longer wants. And we all know his collection is full of artifacts with a… shady past and uncertain acquisition. Which is probably why he’s here at _this_ auction in particular. Smaller. Less rigorous than Soethby’s.” Booker handed his tablet over to Joe, and Joe scanned through the scant information provided. Private auction. But there were a few notable artifacts up for sale- a matched pair of music box pistols, a Degas sketch of ballerinas, a Ming vase, and- lastly- a small bronze statuette of the Greek god Apollo.

“The pharma bro Stephen Merrick? Again?” Joe asked as he handed the tablet back to Booker. They’d tangled with Merrick before, and while there was a certain perverse pleasure in fucking up the entitled asshole’s plans those jobs always ended up being more complicated than they appeared. Merrick was a paranoid fucker.

“Pharma bro Stephen Merrick,” Andy agreed with disgust. “Who is receiving and selling stolen goods. Again. Stolen from archeological digs, again, but no one’s caught him yet so we have to tack on an ‘allegedly’ every time I say that. Fucking colonizer of the worst kind. At least if it were in a museum someone would get to study them and preserve them.” Even saying that much made Andy’s lovely, stern face twist up in a fierce scowl.

“What if we just stole from his collection this time? A lot less mess,” Joe suggested. Stealing from an asshole who cranked up the prices on insulin and other medicines was a lot easier on the conscience than stealing from someone who seemed like an all-around decent person. Or organization that meant well, even if they could do better. It was Merrick, after all, and he was an ass. They all knew it, all had their personal reasons for wanting to at least take him down a peg, but there was little hope of doing much more. When it came to rich fuckers like Merrick the wheels of justice ground to a full stop.

“He’s got his security detail on Malta with him. Ex-military types. Best not to tangle with them,” Booker replied regretfully. “At least, not unless we have a similar firepower at our fingertips.”

“Just send in Andy. She can handle it,” Joe laughed.

“Don’t you dare encourage her, Joe,” Booker ordered, though Andy looked rather thoughtful.

“Don’t worry, Booker,” Joe reassured him. “This seems like an easy enough job, minus the pharma bro and his tiny militia. We’ve dealt with them before, so... I mean, what could possibly go wrong?”

He chose to ignore Booker and Andy’s twin exasperated looks and Booker’s muttered French cursing.

Joe soaked up the Malta summer like a sponge, basking in the sunshine and salty sea air as he walked alongside Andy and Booker on the sidewalk. They dropped their bags off at the hotel before heading out to eat an early dinner. After that they would go their separate ways: Andy to her cache of supplies that she dropped off at a friend’s place nearly a month earlier, Booker to his room to finish up some last-minute research on the auction (he liked being up to date), and Joe… 

Joe was going to walk on the beach and talk to Nicky on the phone. He’d rather have Nicky there beside him, of course, but he’d make the most with what he had. It would have been a romantic getaway with Nicky, full of long walks on the beach at sunset, traveling across the island to take in the sights, maybe some small adventures and plenty of sweeping off the feet (Joe hadn’t forgotten Iris’ advice), but they were being careful. Taking their time. Pushing too hard might scare Nicky off forever, and Nicky was worth being patient for. 

So Joe would spend his evening speaking with Nicky on the phone, pausing every once in a while to enjoy the feeling of warm sand under his toes and cool water rushing over his feet and around his ankles. Joe would mention that he was doing some work during the summer, writing a new article, in talks to record another video, this time for the Victoria and Albert Museum, and that he was doing his best to relax though he’d rather have Nicky by his side. Nicky would probably tell him all about his conference with Qùynh, and the progress they were making with their work. Joe would probably wrestle with the knowledge that, while he didn’t know Qùynh very well personally, he knew of her and how her absence tore one of his dearest friends apart on the inside. Maybe he would tell Nicky about that someday, but it might be better for a face-to-face conversation. Joe didn’t like keeping secrets from Nicky, and for the most part he didn’t. Andy and Booker might disagree, but Joe knew that Nicky was a man he could trust with his very soul. He just wished that he and Nicky could spend time together, so he could prove that Nicky could trust in him as well.

But he would cross these roads when he came to them. For now Joe was going to enjoy eating dinner with his friends outside at a table as the sea breeze ruffled his hair. He was going to enjoy the calm before the storm-

“Hey! Hey, Joe!” a woman shouted from across the street, and when Joe turned his head towards the sound he was pleasantly surprised to see Nile waving at him. She was wearing a floppy straw hat, loose white tank top, and salmon pink shorts with sandals. The bottom of her striped canvas tote bag was covered in sand, and a towel and book were clearly poking out of the top. Joe waved back and gestured for Nile to come up to their table. He rose to his feet and opened his arms to pull her into a hug.

“Dr. Nile Freeman!” He greeted her warmly, rocking back onto his heels as she hugged him back. “I thought you were still in Chicago! What happened?”

“Took a bit of a detour before heading to London,” Nile explained with a small laugh. “I was going to stay home longer, but they’re holding this history outreach conference here in Valletta and I was invited to talk about my summer projects in Chicago. I was going to turn it down, but my mom said if I didn’t give the talk she’d never speak to me again. It went well, so tomorrow night is the gala, then a few days of proper vacation and I’m back to work in London!” She stepped back and smiled up at him, beautiful face beaming.

“But you look good, Joe! Summer treating you well?” she asked, and Joe shrugged.

“Sunshine, sand, plenty of museums to walk through,” Joe replied. “It’s practically my paradise! I’m glad you’re taking your work seriously, Nile, but I’m sorry that you lost out on time with your family. Chicago is far away.”

“Yeah, but it could be worse, you know?” she replied. “Besides, ever since I moved into my new flat I’ve been saving up my money to pay for a round trip to London for my mom and Indus. My mom is so excited to meet you, Joe.”

“And I look forward to meeting her, as well,” Joe said, and he ushered Nile towards his table. “Ah! Do you want to join us for dinner? My treat. You’ve met Booker, of course, and this is-”

“Andy,” Andy introduced herself. “You’re Joe’s former student, hmm? I’ve heard all about you.” There was that curious look in Andy’s eyes, the sort of thing that Booker and Joe learned to fear a long time ago. Andy was absolutely going to test the waters and try to recruit Nile into their operations. But it was a little too late to stop this chance encounter, wasn’t it? Nile took a seat in the empty chair next to Joe and took Andy’s hand in hers, shaking it firmly. Joe shrugged at Booker, who shook his head and poured himself another glass of red wine.

“Nice to meet you, Andy. And Mr. le Livre,” Nile said cooly, and Booker nodded.

“Dr. Freeman,” Booker replied. “Some congratulations are in order. I’m sorry we missed out on your talk. We would have arrived earlier to attend, had we known.”

“Thanks, and don’t worry. I’ve given that lecture before. It’s probably on YouTube somewhere,” Nile said, and the smile returned to her face. “So, friend vacation, Joe? How long did it take them to convince you to take a break?”

“We bribed him,” Andy stated. “I’ll get him an artifact at this private auction going on at the end of the week if he promises to spend at least four hours a day doing leisure activities. Like sunbathing. Or sleeping.”

“And every time he thinks about stepping foot in a museum we will spray him with a water gun,” Booker added, which drew a laugh out of Nile. She quickly ordered grilled fish and a glass of water when the waiter passed by, then she settled back into her seat.

“Buying historical artifacts from an auction doesn’t sound like you, Joe,” Nile remarked.

“No, but if it means that I can donate something to a museum in need…” Joe said with a shrug. “It is a bribe I’m willing to take. Besides, I’m attending the charity gala tomorrow. Ticket sales go to a fundraiser for the art museum, and when I got the invite in my email box… well, it’s as good an excuse to take a vacation as any. Would rather be at the conference, though, but paperwork and such. Delayed my plans.” It wasn’t a complete lie. This was part job, part vacation, and Andy and Booker were going to make him relax when they weren’t planning or executing their heist.

“Hmmm,” Nile hummed. There was a little mischievous glimmer in her dark brown eyes, and she looked from Andy, to Booker, then back to Joe before smiling slyly at him. Joe felt a little trickle of unease run down his spine at that knowing look.

“So what is it you’re really up to here?” Nile asked softly, and at Joe’s shocked expression she continued to speak. “I mean, there’s a conference on museum outreach programs and ethics going on, and you don’t attend? Joe, not to talk shop at dinner, but you are _the_ guy people think of when talking about outreach and repatriation for museums. They should definitely have had you speaking, not me,” she added the last part firmly before Joe could argue that Nile was a far better speaker than him.

“So you miss out on most of the conference, make an appearance at the gala, and then… forced vacation? With a special reward from a secret auction? Something’s up,” Nile stated. “So what is it?”

Joe froze in his seat. Shit. Fuck! Were they being too obvious? Was _he_ too obvious? Nile read him like an open book, read all of them like an open book, and Booker looked both irritated and terribly smug when he glanced over at Joe with a raised eyebrow that said “See? I told you she was too clever.”

Joe aimed a kick at Booker’s shin and smiled when his foot made landfall.

“And, um, Andy, right? Like, I know you’re not technically in the art history field, but I think everyone knows that the Scythia family is a big name in archeology. Like, if you said _you_ were going to bet on something at an auction for your collection? I’d believe it. But Joe? And you, Mr. le Livre-”

“Just Booker, please,” Booker said, wincing as he rubbed his hand over his shin. “Merde, Joe, are you wearing steel-tipped boots?”

“What, do I look like a cop?” Joe retorted. “You’re just dainty.”

“The point, Booker,” Nile interrupted, “is that I know your history. And if all three of you are involved…” she trailed off and looked at Joe expectantly with a smile on her face, pleased with her collection of clues and the deductions she came up with. She patiently waited for Joe’s response.

“We may be liberating an artifact or two from an auction house,” Joe reluctantly admitted. “With Andy’s help. And Booker’s expertise. And my knowledge of art and artifacts.”

“Are you three tracking down stolen artifacts?” Nile suggested. Andy looked over at Joe and lifted one eyebrow. There was an entire conversation in that movement: “Why didn’t you tell me about her earlier? She’s brilliant. I like her. We’re bringing her in.” Joe frowned and shook his head slightly: “Because she’s young and going places. Because I knew you’d suggest this. Because we shouldn’t put her future at risk if we’re caught.” Booker, however, chuckled and granted Nile a warm, surprisingly honest smile.

“Dr. Freeman, you are sharp,” he said, and Nile shrugged, modestly accepting the praise.

“Nile, please,” she replied. “So, Booker, you’re probably looking to see if the documentation is forged, right? And Joe, you’re checking to see if the artifacts are the real deal, while Andy’s playing the buyer?” Nile sounded excited by the prospect, her big brown eyes wide with anticipation. Andy smiled and took a gulp out of her glass- straight vodka, because Andy was a barbarian.

“Something like that,” Andy allowed. “If things go south we’ll do things the hard way.” There was a razor’s edge sharpness to Andy’s words, a wry smile to her lips and harshness in her gaze that told everyone at the table exactly what ‘the hard way’ was going to be. Nile frowned, then looked at Joe suspiciously.

“... Joe…” Nile said slowly.

“...Nile…” Joe replied, echoing her tone.

“... you know what, I’m not going to pry into the hard way right now, because I don’t think I’ll like the answer,” Nile said lightly. “Hopefully it won’t come to that. Right?”

“I like Nile’s plan,” Booker piped up. “I’m still going to check those papers tomorrow night, though. The pistols are legit, seen them before, but that vase has got to be a fake. And the Apollo statue…” Booker frowned.

“The auction house may be small, but it has a good reputation,” Joe said cautiously. “I don’t want to accuse them of falsifying artifacts or their paperwork just yet.”

“But one of the sellers is Merrick. And he’s got no qualms about faking paperwork, or throwing his weight around to get what he wants,” Andy pointed out, and she looked over at Nile.

“Look, kid, I think you’re sharp and have good sense. Joe’s going to hate me for this- don’t argue, Joe- but we might need an extra set of eyes and ears at the gala tomorrow. People talk when they’re tipsy and in a good mood, and we know some of the potential buyers will be attending,” Andy explained carefully.

“If you need someone to listen in and let you know if anyone says something fishy, I’m your girl,” Nile promised. Joe wanted to slam his head against the table, especially when Booker gave him a look that said ‘I told you so.’

“Besides, I have a feeling Joe’s going to be awfully distracted at the gala,” Nile added slyly. “So I can pick up the slack.”

“Oh, I knew I’d like you, Nile,” Andy said. “Has Joe ever mentioned the time we were in Madrid and he was so distracted by a bird he was sketching he almost got hit by a moped?”

Joe groaned and took a long swig of his sparkling water. He was going to be thoroughly taken down a peg by Andy _and_ Nile, and there was absolutely nothing he could do about it. Booker was right. They shouldn’t have been introduced. Booker slyly smiled and poured himself another glass of wine.

“You know, I still have the sketch,” he remarked. “It’s my favorite.”

“Et tu, Booker?” Joe asked, and at Booker’s laugh Joe sighed slumped into his seat.

Nicky would find this hilarious.

-

“Dear God, Nicky, you actually own a suit? That fits?!” Qùynh exclaimed when she met him in the museum lobby. “I may just faint from shock.”

“I bought it for my sister’s wedding,” Nicky replied, feeling more than a little self-conscious. He hated the suit, hated how hot and constrictive it was. Give him his hoodie and track pants any day, at least they were comfortable! But it was a formal gala event, and they were here to network and drum up interest in their non-profit. The suit was important. He’d just have to put up with the discomfort for a night.

“Which sister?” Qùynh asked curiously.

“Giulia,” Nicky replied, and he smoothed down the front of his jacket. “Bianca’s not even… she’s, ah, scuola… scuola… sixth form!”

“Oh, yeah, you’re the middle child,” Qùynh remarked. “You give off such ‘oldest child’ vibes, Nicky. All organized and feeding everyone. Like a mother hen!”

“I am my mother’s son,” Nicky said with a modest shrug. “But I think all of us are like that in some respect. Cooking, caring for each other- it was easier to do those things than to talk.” Sometimes Nicky reverted to silently doing tasks for others- making food, making tea, doing whatever needed doing- instead of speaking. He knew he was blunt, that he could be too abrupt and overwhelming in his bluntness, so when the words would not come out right Nicky chose actions. His sisters, his mother, for all their words, were much the same- actions meant everything.

“I’m glad I’m an only child. Sucks to be a role model,” Qùynh replied, and she took Nicky’s arm in her hand. “Now come on, we’re gonna go find Nile and say hello before we circle the room. I want to start off the evening with at least one nice conversation.” Her smile was predatory, like a shark, and he was grateful that Qùynh was his friend and not his enemy.

Nicky could say at least one pleasant thing about the gala as he stepped into the main room: the museum was nice. It was a glamorous place to hold an event, all elegant white marble tile floors and big windows that showcased the beautiful ocean views and coastline. He hated how crowded it was, how there were so many people, but as he peered through the crowds and dresses and suits he began to pick out and recognize faces from the conference soon enough. There was a professor there, a journalist there, a writer over by the bar, another professor, a lawyer Qùynh talked to earlier in the week- Nicky breathed out a sigh of relief when he caught sight of Nile, dressed in a simple black cocktail dress while speaking with-

“Madre di Dio,” Nicky whispered, because there, wearing a crisp black suit and plum colored tie, smiling at Nile and clearly about to make some sly comment or joke (because Nicky knew that face, knew that expression, saw it aimed at him nearly every week when they video chatted), was Joe. His Joe, though Nicky hadn’t gathered up the courage to refer to him that way outside of his own head.

“Oh, hey, Dr. Heartthrob showed up after all! Nile said he was busy with research, but I guess he was able to find the time to show his face!” Qùynh said cheerfully. “Oh, he’s gonna be surprised to see you, hmm? All dressed up, looking like a snack!”

“He’s not going to eat me, Qùynh,” Nicky retorted, his voice hoarse and heart racing. Joe hadn’t said he was in Malta yesterday. He said he was on vacation, yes, taking a walk on the beach, but Nicky assumed he’d gone to Brighton or Bath or something, not Malta! Of course, Nicky only said he was at a conference, nothing more. Lord, grant him the strength to not melt into a puddle of humiliation and lust because Joe was a specimen of perfection in that clean cut suit.

“Bet you’d like that though, hmm?” she said with a laugh, and she pushed him towards Nile and Joe. “Go, go! Talk with Dr. al-Kaysani and bat those pretty lashes, Nicky!” With that order Qùynh trotted off, a little skip to her step as she made her way through the crowd and abandoned Nicky to his fate. Maybe he could find a place to hide and gather his thoughts before saying hello. The sight of Joe in a suit had undone him and made him want to undo Joe- tear off the tie, drop it to the floor, take that fabric between his hands and rip it away until Joe was bare and-

Deep breaths. He had to think of something, anything else, because he couldn’t get through this evening with a half-hard cock and a lust-addled brain!

“Cazzo,” Nicky muttered, and he imagined the worst, least appealing things he could come up with. Father Marino’s disapproving, weathered face flashed through his mind, and at the thought of his childhood parish priest Nicky felt as if a bucket of icy water had been dumped on his head. He repressed a shudder- Father Marino had a way of disapproving of people without saying a word. He would raise one shaggy eyebrow and shake his head slowly, and the person who had incurred his disappointment would stare into his pale blue eyes and sink into the floor. Nicky breathed in slowly, then let out that breath in a quick rush. Fine. He was fine. It was only Nile and Joe. No need to panic.

“Nicky? Nicky!” Nile exclaimed happily, waving to him and dragging a clearly shell-shocked Joe along with her. “I was hoping I’d find you, guess who flew in yesterday afternoon?”

“Nile, hello,” Nicky greeted her warmly before turning his gaze on Joe. Joe, whose warm brown eyes scraped over his body like a physical touch. Joe, who looked as surprised to see Nicky as Nicky was to see him. Joe, who looked like he wanted to do nothing more than drag him into a dark corner and kiss him.

Nicky couldn’t help but agree. Screw networking, he wanted to kiss Joe until they couldn’t breathe.

“Nicky,” Joe rasped out, and the way he said his name threw all thoughts of Father Marino’s disapproving shaggy eyebrows out of his head.

“Joe,” Nicky replied, feeling utterly unmoored. “I thought you were on vacation?” Joe laughed, the sound filling Nicky’s ears until he couldn’t even think of anything else.

“Yes,” Joe confessed. “I am. I had an invite to the conference but couldn’t make it, but I pushed a few things around and managed to make the gala. I missed all the academic fist-fights, but the night’s still young.”

“I think the beautiful scenery managed to keep everyone distracted,” Nicky replied weakly. “You, ah, you look good.” Joe looked more than good. Good was an utterly inadequate word for how Joe looked, but Nicky couldn’t think of any words.

“Mmm. And you look magnificent,” Joe murmured, stepping a little closer. “How was the conference?”

“As I told you yesterday, it went well,” Nicky said. “I suppose now is a good time to say that I took a week off to enjoy the city without the stress of the conference tainting my time here.”

A smile spread across Joe’s face, slow and sweet like honey dripping off the comb. Nicky wanted to kiss that smile, drink it in until he was drunk from kisses and laughter. He wanted to make Joe smile like that all the time.

“Seems like everyone had the same idea,” Joe commented, his eyes scraping over Nicky like he was trying to strip him bare. “I have a few ideas for how you and I can spend the time off.”

“Well, would you look at that? Qùynh’s over there! See you two later, don’t do anything I wouldn’t do!” Nile exclaimed suddenly before hurrying off, her two braids thudding against her back as she power-walked into the crowd.

“Oh,” Nicky murmured. “That was rude of me, wasn’t it? I barely even said hello.”

“Nile will forgive you,” Joe promised. “She is a sneaky woman. She said I would be distracted all night, and never let it slip that you were in town.” Joe smiled charmingly at him then and offered his hand.

“Care to take a walk? Plenty of art to observe and discuss,” Joe suggested, and the offer was too tempting to refuse. He took Joe’s hand in his own, marveling at the warmth of his touch and the feeling of rightness, of belonging, that slotted into place the moment their fingers tangled together.

“Most of it is modern,” Nicky pointed out as he fell into step with Joe, like they always did, their strides perfectly matched, as if they were meant to walk together this way.

“Then we can wander the classics wing and stare at statues of Greek gods and goddesses,” Joe said cheerfully. “If it is history you’re after.”

“Is that what you’re after, Joe?” Nicky asked, because as much as he loved peace he could never resist stirring up a little trouble. Good trouble, he told himself. In this case, he knew Joe was after something. What, exactly, was still a matter of conjecture, but Nicky knew this surprise trip to Malta had everything to do with Joe’s other job. Perhaps ‘calling’ was a more apt term for it, but whatever the case Joe was Up To Something, and Nicky was going to figure it out. And when he figured it out… Nicky knew that the proper thing to do would be to stop Joe, but in his heart he knew he could never do that. Yet he also knew he could never leave Joe alone if he was in danger, and knowing that he was here, in Malta, on a job- if Nicky let him be, it would mean letting Joe put himself at risk. He couldn’t allow for that to happen. The only logical conclusion, Nicky decided, was to get involved.

“At the moment I’m chasing after you,” Joe said sweetly. “And it is a wonderful chase.”

“Please,” Nicky scoffed, “It is hardly a chase if I’m letting you catch me. So what are you really doing, Joe?”

“You know, I am glad you no longer call me Dr. al-Kaysani,” Joe replied, changing the subject so rapidly it nearly gave Nicky whiplash. “It always felt as if I was in trouble every time you addressed me that way.”

“Yusuf-“

“Nicolò,” Joe retorted, his voice still as sweet as honey, rich and wonderful in his ears.

“I refuse to believe that this meeting is a mere coincidence. That would be absurd,” Nicky muttered. It was absurd! Coincidences didn’t just happen. Joe was clearly up to something! So what was it this time? There wasn’t anything Joe could possibly want here in this museum- as Nicky pointed out, it was mostly art, and all the pieces were loaned or as a legitimate donation with little controversial history to it. it had to be something else. But what?! As they walked together and Nicky stewed over what Joe was doing here and what he wanted.

“Maybe we shouldn’t defy fate, Nicky,” Joe suggested. “We’ll always run into each other when we least expect it. Though it would be ridiculous to expect we would never see each other, given our lines of work and our mutual interests. Oh, look. Ecclesiastical artifacts.” He gestured towards a collection of silverware and majolica jars on display. Nicky was, for a moment, distracted by the beautiful glaze of the jars and delicate workmanship on the silverware, but his attention snapped back to Joe the moment he realized what the man was up to! Trust an academic to distract him with his intellect!

“You’re changing the subject,” Nicky accused, and Joe laughed. Nicky tried to hold on to his irritation, but Joe’s laughter was a balm to his soul. He couldn’t help but smile, small as it was. Joe beamed with pride and quickly lifted their joined hands to press a kiss to Nicky’s knuckles.

“You’re very determined to pry the truth out of me, aren’t you?” he asked softly. “I’m a little flattered to have your attention, Nicky.”

“I’m worried,” Nicky murmured back. “It’s… well, your chosen occupation isn’t the safest thing, or the wisest.” He emphasized the last part of his remark, and Joe’s look of mock offense drew a small (small!) chuckle from Nicky.

“You wound me,” Joe said.

“You’ll recover, I’m sure,” Nicky replied. “Though I do hate to cause you pain.”

“The feeling is mutual,” Joe promised. “Perhaps… I don’t want you to be involved, but, Nicky…” Joe’s voice trailed off, as if he had run out of words and needed help finding new ones to describe what he felt. Nicky was terrible with words and had no idea what he could say to ease that worried frown from Joe’s brow, but he knew what he could _do_. Nicky pressed a quick kiss to Joe’s cheek and squeezed his hand firmly.

“I’ve sat with this long enough,” Nicky whispered, feeling as if he was standing on the edge of a cliff right before diving into the water below. “How can I help?”

Joe laughed, loud and delighted, drawing attention from several of the other gala attendees. Nicky knew, in that moment, that diving off the cliff was the right decision.

“Every time I think I understand you, you reveal another aspect of yourself that confounds me,” he murmured. “You are a wonder, Nicolò di Genova.”

“And you are a menace, Yusuf al-Kaysani,” Nicky replied. “What do you need?”

“... has anyone at the conference mentioned the auction happening at the end of the week?” Joe finally asked, his smile fading from his face as a grim expression shadowed his features.

“What?”

“There’s an auction, and I- we- heard that stolen goods might be going up for sale,” Joe explained. “And there’s this one collector who is bad news, and he’s rumored to be there. Heard anything like that?”

“... someone mentioned the auction and the dueling pistols, but only in the context of clockwork mechanisms,” Nicky said thoughtfully. He went through the many, many conversations he had had this past week, combing his memory and searching for anything that might be useful.

“How bad is it, Joe?” he whispered, and Joe’s serious expression was alarming.

“I’m not sure,” he admitted. “One of my associates is going to look through the paperwork, but if the man we suspect is doing some buying and selling, it will be bad enou-“

“Joe! Joe, I- Enfin! Joe, really?” A man exclaimed as he nearly skidded to a halt in front of them. Nicky thought he looked familiar: tall, but stooped over like he was in some sort of pain, dark blond, almost brown hair disheveled, sad blue eyes more annoyed than anything else at the moment. Joe evidently knew this man, and this man knew Nicky, so-

“Ah. You must be one of Joe’s colleagues?” Nicky asked politely, and the man’s sad blue eyes sharpened into an annoyed glare aimed at Joe.

“Je suis au bout de ma vie, Joe! Did you tell him _everything_?!” he exclaimed, and he ran a hand through his hair to get it out of his eyes.

“I told you he was clever, Booker,” Joe said mildly. “Booker, this is Nicky. Nicky, Booker. So, did you find anything?”

“Are we really having this conversation here?” Booker complained, glancing between Joe and Nicky as if the two of them had grown several heads or something else that was just as disturbing. Joe merely shrugged, which only seemed to agitate Booker further. Nicky took mercy on the man.

“I’m helping,” he explained quietly. “For this part of the job at least. If there are stolen artifacts we need to put a stop to it. Qùynh will help, if I ask her. She’ll probably love it.” There was nothing Qùynh loved more than causing a little chaos.

“This is- fuck, Joe, Andy’s ex-wife is here and they’re-“ Booker pointed towards an exit, far past all the crowds of people milling about the exhibits and conversing. There was a courtyard out there. And in that courtyard-

“Well, the conversation they’re having is not very pleasant,” Booker said. “I can see why they imploded, because it is a disaster out there. I came in to find you as soon as I could. Your protege is trying to keep the situation from spiraling out of control, but-“ Someone opened a doorway or window somewhere in the building, and a short, angry shout drifted into the hall before being drowned out by music and the chatter of partygoers. Nicky’s heart fell because he recognized one of those raised voices.

“Fuck!” Joe exclaimed quietly, and he let go of Nicky’s hand as he broke into a jog. Nicky was right behind him, heart pounding in his chest because that was Qùynh yelling, Qùynh who sounded hurt and angry and vicious, and Qùynh didn’t yell, Qùynh never let anyone hurt her, what happened, something happened, he needed to help her-

Nicky shoved his way into the tiny museum courtyard, nearly running into Joe as he skidded to a stop, Booker right on his heels. There was Qùynh, in a magnificently royal rage, dark eyes flashing bright under the electric glow of the lamps. Behind her stood Nile, who was watching Qùynh with an expression of awe and a little fear painted on her face, and in front of Qùynh stood… a stranger. A strange woman, dressed in dark slacks and a white button-up with the sleeves rolled to her elbows, her dark hair cut short, and her face…

Nicky had never seen such open grief on anyone’s face. It was an all-consuming, raw sorrow in those electric blue eyes, one that turned the woman’s stern, sharp, stunning features into something that was nearly impossible to look upon. And while Qùynh’s anger was potent, Nicky saw the same grief that marked this stranger’s face on hers as well. Small memories started to trickle into the forefront of Nicky’s mind, shadows and light and information fitting together as he listened to Qùynh tell this woman off in the middle of a party.

“- I don’t give a rat’s ass what you’re doing here, Andy, but you leave Nile out of it!” Qùynh hissed, keeping her tiny body between Nile and the strange woman with the sharp features and sad eyes, as if Nile was the one who needed protecting in this situation.

“Qùynh-“ the woman said, her voice hoarse.

“No. Whatever you’re up to is bad news, I know that much. And whatever you told Nile? Lies. You’re always telling everyone lies, Andy, and I’m not going to let you hurt anyone I care about with them!” Qùynh spat out. “So go! Go do what you came here to do. You always do whatever you want! But leave Nile out of it!”

“Shit,” Booker muttered behind him, and Nicky had to agree. Joe sighed and approached Nile, who had slowly edged away from the pair.

“You alright?” Nicky heard Joe ask. He approached carefully, slowly. He had to get to Qùynh, get her away from this woman, help her somehow, help mend that hurt on her face that she was trying and failing to hide- Joe could take care of Nile, he could take care of this stranger, this Andy, Joe could do a thousand different things and all of them well, but Nicky? Nicky could help Qùynh, and so he would.

“Yeah. I honestly don’t know what happened? Like, caught sight of Andy, was going to introduce her and Qùynh, and… this,” Nile replied.

“History,” Joe muttered. “Didn’t know it was that bad.”

Ah. Another piece slotted into place, along with the tidbits he knew of Qùynh’s past, and Nicky had a picture he could work with. A relationship that went foul, so bad that Qùynh refused to speak of it, that she felt so wronged she would protect a new friend from her ex-lover with the vicious swiftness of a pit viper. Joe and Booker knew this woman, which meant she was somehow involved in Joe’s… other work. And Qùynh called her a liar. Qùynh was not one to throw out baseless accusations, and she wasn’t quick to anger. She teased and lightly tormented, but she was a joyous woman at heart. So what happened? What went wrong?

Secrets and lies, secrets and lies. Just because Joe was completely honest with Nicky about his work didn’t mean that his friends were so open. When Qùynh turned on the toe of her high heeled red pumps to storm out of the courtyard, Nicky approached her.

“Qùynh,” he murmured gently. Qùynh only shook her head quickly, dark hair swinging about her shoulders, the dangling earrings in her ears sparkling under the lights. There were tears in her eyes, and Nicky wanted to scoop her up and carry her out so she could cry her heart out, but Qùynh wiped them away on the back of her arm.

“Not now, Nicky,” she said. “Just- give me a minute, okay? Is my mascara running?”

It was smudged, but it was hardly noticeable. Nicky let Qùynh artfully dodge the obvious questions that hung in the air for now and walked with her to the eastern entrance of the courtyard.

“Only a little,” Nicky replied. “The ladies room is on the second floor, and no one was in the east wing when I last checked. All modern art, and we’re all historians here.” Qùynh gave him a quick, wobbly smile that was all in the mouth. It made Nicky’s heart ache.

“Fuck, you’re a life saver, Nicky,” she whispered.

“What can I do to help?” He asked.

“It’s just my past. Keep Nile away from her. Andy. She’s trouble,” Qùynh warned him.

“Joe will take care of her,” Nicky replied. “And I will speak with this Andy.”

“Please don’t get in a fist fight with my ex-wife,” Qùynh said with a watery chuckle, and Nicky was relieved to hear a smile under all those tears. “She’ll kick your ass.”

“Probably. Maybe Joe will save me, they know each other,” Nicky explained. “Will you be okay?”

“I’m not surprised. Andy’s from a family of archeologists and historians, even though she says she doesn’t really care for that life. It would be weirder if they _didn’t_ know each other,” Qùynh said. “Give me some time, I’ll pull myself together.”

“If you need me, call,” Nicky ordered. He carefully folded Qùynh into a hug before gently pushing her away. Qùynh slipped back into the museum, and Nicky turned back to the courtyard and the battle that lay ahead of him.

Nicky tried not to be an angry person. He knew he had a vengeful temper, a wicked streak of wrath that lay at the very core of his being, and he loathed it. He kept that temper carefully in check, never letting it take control of him even in his darkest moments. But it was hard to take in the sight of an angry, sad, humiliated Qùynh and to not feel that familiar anger stirring in his gut. But then he caught sight of Joe standing by the woman, Andy, his face a mix of sympathy, sorrow, and confusion. The anger faded just enough for Nicky to regain his composure. Anger had no place here. It would not help. Nicky approached them, Nile and Booker following cautiously behind.

“I am sorry we had to meet under these circumstances,” Nicky greeted Andy politely, even if his voice was a touch cooler than usual. “I’m Nicky.”

“Andy. Andy Scythia,” the woman croaked out. “I- I guess you’re Qùynh’s friend, huh?”

“Yes. She’s my neighbor. We work together,” Nicky replied. “Legal non-profit. We help people reclaim their cultural artifacts from museums.” Andy winced, as if the very thought of Qùynh caused her pain. Maybe it did. Andy’s presence certainly upset Qùynh.

“That’s… that’s noble of you,” she said, and the tears in those electric blue eyes refused to fall. Nicky couldn’t hold onto his anger anymore.

“I don’t know what happened between you two, and I won’t pry,” he murmured. “But I am sorry to see you both hurting. Do you need anything? I can get you water.”

“Water would be good. Vodka would be better. Joe, where the fuck did you find this guy?” Andy asked, her voice hoarse as Joe led her over to a concrete bench and made her sit down.

“A museum, if you’d believe it,” Joe said with a gentle laugh. “Booker, you wanna stay here with us or head out? I mean, it’s not like you’re exactly dressed for a party.”

“I’ll stay for a minute,” Booker said gruffly, and he took a seat next to Andy on the bench. “Catch my breath.”

“I’ll get the water. I, uh, should I check on…” Nile trailed off and looked over at Nicky, concern etched in her face. Nicky shook his head. The last thing Qùynh needed was people crowding in on her, asking if she was well or not. Qùynh was always willing, more than willing, to offer whatever help she could, but when it came to accepting help? Well. Qùynh was a proud woman. She wasn’t going to cry on anyone’s shoulder.

“She needs time to breath. I’ll make sure she’s alright later,” Nicky assured Nile. She flashed him a quick, tight smile.

“I’ll get you water, Andy, so wait here,” she insisted.

“Thank you, Nile,” Andy said, cradling her head in her hands. As Nile walked away Andy sighed and leaned against Booker, who wrapped an arm around her shoulders and held her close to his side.

“Could’ve been worse,” he consoled her. “Could’ve been a lot worse.”

“She’s running a non-profit! For- ugh, I just!” Andy groaned. “I need a drink.”

“You need water,” Joe said firmly, and he kneeled next to Andy and took her hand in his. “No alcohol.”

“Don’t fucking baby me, Yusuf, I’m not a child! I’m not going to suffer from dehydration because I saw my fucking ex-wife and we fought,” Andy snapped back, but she didn’t pull her hand away. She gripped it tightly, as if his hand were a lifeline. Nicky could understand that- Joe was a grounding presence. He made the world stand still and make sense.

“You work with Joe. With your, ah… liberation projects,” Nicky said politely. “I suppose that is where the… disagreements arose between you and Qùynh.”

“Qùynh doesn’t know I do this,” Andy confessed, her voice breaking as she spoke. “Never told her, she just knew I was doing something and was- I shut her out, and the more she pushed me for the truth the more I pushed back, and everything fell apart. And now she’s running a fucking non-profit doing everything I work for, and I could have- if I had just!” Her voice choked off and she buried her face in her hand again.

“Andy,” Joe murmured.

“I gave up on her, on us. And that’s my fault,” Andy muttered. “Damn it, Joe, she’s running a non-profit doing the same shit I’ve been doing all my life and- what if I told her what I’ve been doing? What if I wrecked everything because I’m such a fuck-up?! Fucking bullshit.”

Joe didn’t say anything. He only smiled sadly up at her as Booker squeezed her shoulder. Nicky felt as if he was intruding on a very private moment between the three of them, but he couldn’t bring himself to leave. One of the courtyard doors opened up, and Nile slipped outside, a clear glass full of water in her hand.

“Here. I got you a napkin if you need it,” she said, and offered the glass over to Andy. She downed it quickly and grimaced.

“Thanks,” she mumbled.

“So. Wanna talk about it?” Nile asked patiently, but there was a firmness to her voice that said that she expected answers.

“Not really, but Qùynh… she has a point. You shouldn’t go into this business blind,” Andy said. “Just. Not here. Tomorrow, breakfast at the cafe with that blue and white striped canopy down the road. We’ll fill you in on the job. All of it.”

“That’s… thanks,” Nile replied quietly. “I had a feeling there was more to this than you were letting on.” She glanced over at Joe then, and Nicky read a thousand different emotions flashing through those eyes. Joe shrugged and tilted his head.

“There is a lot I’ll have to tell you, as well,” Joe added. Nile raised an eyebrow and crossed her arms over her chest, but said nothing. Booker sighed and ran a hand through his hair.

“I’m heading back to the hotel. Let me know if anything changes,” Booker said, slowly rising to his feet. “Some stuff seemed off, but the big ticket item? The Apollo statue? That paperwork is forged, Joe, and Merrick’s the seller. Just in case you needed to know.”

“Thanks, Booker. We’ll check it out tomorrow night, then. Authenticate the piece.” Joe replied, also rising to his feet. He almost reached out reflexively towards Nicky, as if he needed some sort of comfort, a touch to ground him, to keep him steady. Nicky reached out and took his hand. At least it was something he could do.

“See you tomorrow morning, then?” Nicky asked, and he was glad that no one argued against it. Perhaps they were tired of fighting after this dramatic encounter. Perhaps they could tell he was a stubborn soul. Perhaps it was because he was with Joe. It didn’t really matter, because the result was the same: Nicky was going to have answers, from all of them.

“D’accord. Nice to meet you, Nicky,” Booker added. “Joe won’t shut up about the gorgeous archivist in Liverpool. It’s nice to finally have a face to the name, as it were.”

“It is nice to meet you as well,” Nicky replied. “Nile?”

“I’ll spend another hour here and turn in,” she replied. “You’ll be okay, Andy?”

“I’ve survived worse,” Andy replied. “You go, enjoy yourself. Keep- keep Qùynh company, if she’s up for it. Keep an eye on her? Make sure she’s okay?” It was strange to hear this woman, who always sounded so self-assured and in control in the stories Joe told him, plead that someone take care of things.

“Right. Tomorrow morning, then,” Nile promised, and she smiled at Joe. “So. How much of the mild-mannered professor thing is an act, Dr. al-Kaysani?” It should have sounded accusatory, but Nicky caught the little laugh in Nile’s voice. Joe evidently did as well, because he smiled back at her.

“I’m still a professor and extremely mild-mannered, Dr. Freeman,” Joe announced firmly. “And you are fully aware of my lenient paper policies and the detailed make-up work I lay out in my syllabi.”

“And your cutthroat grading, yeah, I know,” Nile groused. “Fine, I’ll see you tomorrow morning. Joe. Nicky. Andy.” Nile stepped away from them, then made her way back into the museum. Andy hoisted herself to her feet.

“I’m out. Back exit. See you tomorrow, Joe,” Andy said, and she tossed the empty plastic cup into a trash can in the corner of the courtyard. It hit the rim with a light clinking sound and bounced in, and by the time Nicky looked back towards Andy she was leaving the courtyard. Then she was gone, and Nicky and Joe were alone. Joe heaved a heavy sigh and collapsed into a heap on the bench.

“That was… something,” he muttered. “What a mess.”

“Yes,” Nicky agreed. He carefully took a seat next to Joe, waiting for a sign, waiting to be pushed away if this was too much, but Joe leaned into him and rested his head on his shoulder.

“This usually doesn’t happen,” Joe said. “We’re really a boring lot, once you get past the archeological Robin Hood bit.” Nicky snorted, the image of Joe wearing a jaunty little cap coming to mind. He couldn’t envision Andy in a wimple, though he did try.

“The Robin Hood aspect is quite exciting, you know. Are you really so harsh a grader?” Nicky asked. He’d get back to all of what happened soon. He absolutely would, because leaving things unsaid was what led to this messy confrontation between Andy and Qùynh. But for now? For now Joe looked like he needed a distraction, and Nicky wasn’t going to pretend like he wasn’t shaken.

“I switched from using red ink to green because my papers looked like a bloody battlefield,” Joe confessed. “I think it surprises my students that I can be so… you know. Harsh. I run a pretty casual classroom most of the time.”

“I would like to take one of your clases,” Nicky replied. “Your videos are so… you make it easy. Accessible. And I’m fairly confident in my writing.”

“You’ll be a better student than some, Nicky. I’m sure you’ll giggle at the spintriae like everyone else, but you won’t make a scene about them. Or act disgusted at the mere mention of sex in a classroom,” Joe shook his head.

“Perhaps I’ll text you a picture of one of those coins instead,” Nicky suggested, “and you can give me a private lesson afterwards.” It was clumsy flirting, true, heavy handed and a little (very) vulgar, but the remark startled a breathless laugh out of Joe, who raised his head off Nicky’s shoulder and gazed at him with an expression full of wonder.

“Nicky! You were in seminary!” he exclaimed, and the shock, the delight, in Joe’s voice made Nicky laugh.

“Yes. I was,” Nicky said warmly. “I told you the church and I did not suit.” It was not the only reason, of course, but it was one of the strongest reasons Nicky never went into the priesthood. He had always felt, in his heart of hearts, that there was something, someone, waiting out in the world for him. Call him a romantic fool, but he could never shake that feeling off. That, and the so many other problems he had, the disagreements he had, put Nicky on a different path. Perhaps a better path. It led to here and now, sitting beside Joe in the courtyard of an art museum in Malta, and for Nicky? For Nicky that as all the evidence he needed.

“And I am exceedingly thankful for that,” Joe breathed out, taking Nicky’s face in his hands. “You would be wasted in a church.”

“If you ask my grandmother I am well suited,” Nicky retorted, if only to be contrarian and watch Joe’s brown eyes light up like they did when they argued, when he was passionate about something. Anything. And this? It was like a fire was burning in his eyes when Joe frowned and tilted his head up to look at him.

“I will hold my tongue only because she is your grandmother,” Joe declared, “but she is horrendously wrong. No cloisters or cassocks for you, Nicolò di Genova. You’re meant for other things, I know it.”

“Nonna was wrong about many things,” Nicky said with a smile, and he leaned forward to rest his forehead against Joe’s. 

“I’m glad, then,” Joe said, and he closed the distance between them to kiss him, firm and warm and welcoming. Loving. Nicky buried his hand into Joe’s curly hair, relished the feel of Joe’s beard scratching at his skin, adored the flutter of his eyelashes against his cheeks and the little laugh against his mouth when Nicky groaned. The things he would do to be somewhere private right now- he desperately wanted to tear that plum colored tie off Joe’s neck and drop it to the floor. He wanted to lick and suck and bite and-

“I- I should go check on Qùynh,” Nicky murmured as he pulled away, and oh, he wished he could be the unreasonable one here but they both knew it would be wildly irresponsible (not to mention probably illegal) to strip bare and fuck in a museum courtyard.

“And I should look in on Andy,” Joe said regretfully. “Just- before you go?” Joe kissed him again, running his hands through his hair, and Nicky, for a fraction of a breath, chased after his lips when Joe pulled himself away.

“Go,” Joe whispered. “Make sure Qùynh’s alright, I’ll say goodbye to Nile and head out.”

“Damn complications,” Nicky muttered as he rose, unsteadily, to his feet. “Good night, Joe.”

“Night, Nicky,” Joe murmured, staring up at him like he- it was blasphemy to say it, yes, but Joe was looking up at him like he was something holy, something to be worshipped, and Nicky wanted so much- he stepped back once. Again. A third time, and Joe broke into a loud, deep peel of laughter.

“I’m behaving, I promise!” he teased.

“You never behave,” Nicky retorted with a smile, and he fled the courtyard with Joe’s unrestrained laughter filling his ears.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!


	5. Chapter 5

“So. This is awkward,” Nile announced at the breakfast table the next morning. “But if we want to make any progress we’re going to talk. All six of us.”

It was a sunny morning in Malta and they were having breakfast by the sea on a patio overlooking the beaches. The sand below was already crowded with tourists and locals enjoying the mid-morning waves and sun. It should have been a lovely breakfast with friends, but Joe could safely say it was the most awkward meal of his life, and he lived a life full of awkward meals and stiff conversations.

Booker was drinking coffee, black, with a hard roll and butter. He gulped the beverage down as if he barely tasted it, and studiously kept his gaze fixed on the line where blue sky met blue sea. He looked tired, more tired than usual, and Joe wondered how much the dramatic encounter between Andy and Qùynh reminded Booker of his own tumultuous past. Booker hadn’t had the best life growing up, but Andy and Joe managed to pull him out of a downward spiral just enough for Booker to find himself and get to his feet, to meet his wife and fall in love and build a life that suited him. But the scars remained, and they still ached when the right amount of pressure was applied to them, like right now. Joe politely waved down a waiter, the cafe owner’s son, and asked if they could have a pot of coffee for the table. Just in case Sebastian needed, he told himself. Booker noticed the gesture and gave Joe a small, strained smile before returning his attention to the sea.

Nile kept glancing at Joe from across the table, as if she was expecting him to take charge of this breakfast meeting. She was significantly less angry than some of the people sitting at the table, but Nile was not pleased with Joe. She gave him a patented “Face of Mild Disapproval,” but when he pushed the creamer and sugar towards her she smiled and accepted it. Not quite forgiveness for leaving her in the dark, but it was close enough.

Andy was chomping down on shakshuka next to him on his right, her eyes fixed on her plate, though every once in a while her gaze drifted to the plate across from her, and the delicate hand that gripped a knife and fork while cutting up an omelette. She looked like she hadn’t slept a wink, and the reason for the dark circles under her eyes sat across from her at the table.

Qùynh insisted on joining them for breakfast. Nicky apparently said something to her last night after they parted, and she wouldn’t let him leave the hotel until he took her. She looked like she hadn’t slept at all either, and Joe took whatever little consolation he could from that. At least the pain Andy suffered was mutual. At least whatever she and Qùynh had together meant something. Joe looked over to his left, to the end of the table where Nicky sat, and bit back a wistful sight as he stared longingly at the man.

He was as radiant as ever, a calm presence in the veritable storm that was brewing at the table. Nicky’s small talk and sweet smiles were the glue holding them all together this morning, Joe was certain of it, and he would kiss the man breathless if it weren’t for the fact that he knew it would lead to something more. Always more. He was a man dying of thirst and Nicky was his oasis. And then Nicky would look at him with those sea-glass green blue grey eyes and Joe found it hard to think. Hard to breathe. How could he when his world was being unmade and made anew? But Joe couldn’t keep the awkward silence between the six of them going forever on endless coffee and longing stares, so he forced himself to take a deep breath and say something.

“It… it starts with me, I suppose,” he offered, but Andy shook her head and set her fork down before fixing him to his seat with a stern look.

“No, Joe. I’ve been doing this since I was twelve years old. It starts with me,” she said. Qùynh narrowed her eyes and stared at Andy, and Andy ignored her. Pretended to ignore her, because Joe saw the way her pulse jumped at her neck, saw the flickering glance towards Qùynh before she returned her attention to Joe.

“Andy,” Joe whispered. Andy was never a woman of words, and Joe always had a ready supply available to spread around. He didn’t mind using them for her sake. But Andy refused.

“No. You and Book wouldn’t have gotten into this without me. I start,” she insisted. She breathed in. Out. Clenched her fists. She was stiff as a board next to him, coiled up tight as she spoke.

“I’m a thief. Have been since I was twelve and learned that the wonderful mask that hung over my grandfather’s mantle was stolen from Nigeria,” Andy confessed. “I couldn’t- I was so angry. He stole it, _took it_ and called it education, said it was better for everyone, but it was still theft! That was their mask and he took it!” The anger in Andy’s voice was palpable, as if the incident only happened yesterday and not decades ago.

“It took me years of planning, but after he died I took that mask, found the tribe, and returned it,” she explained. “And after that I did it with other artifacts around the house, then the other houses. And when that was done…” Andy sighed and looked down at her plate. Joe took a deep breath and took up the story from there.

“I’ve always been passionate about repatriation. And Andy and I were friends back when I was working on my doctorate. So when she told me about the…” Joe struggled to find the proper words to explain what Andy had been up to before he joined up with her.

“The Robin Hood act?” Nicky suggested, and Andy barked out a short, bitter, sarcastic sounding laugh.

“What a nice way to put it, but it was really just a smash and grab at local museums and collectors,” Andy said. “I wasn’t very sophisticated.”

“That came with me,” Booker interrupted. “Dr. Freeman- Nile- had me pinned the moment we first met.” He gave Nile a small, pained smile, and Nile grinned.

“Like, not to insult you, but you came off as really shady from the start, Booker,” she informed him. “Probably the sunglasses inside. And the secrecy.”

“To be fair, I was very hungover that morning and I’m not a particularly chatty man,” he told her before turning his attention to the rest of the table.

“I was a forger. Did art restoration as a front, forged documents in the back room. And I was good. Careful. No one caught on, save for Andy. When she found me she offered me a job. Something… legitimate is the wrong word,” Booker mused before pouring himself another cup of black coffee.

“Something that aligned more with your morals?” Joe suggested fondly, if only to draw a smile from Booker. It worked, and the years and stress fell off Booker’s face when he smiled and shook his head.

“Not at first, no, but Andy has a way of convincing people. So we became a crew of three, stealing artifacts from museums and from collectors, returning them to their people of origin,” Booker explained.

“Or our closest approximation of them,” Joe added. “It isn’t easy, but we try.”

“Sometimes we do other runs. Take artifacts from museums and collections in war-torn areas. Hide them. Keep track of them until we can return them to their proper place,” Andy said. “It’s… it’s not much, but it’s something. At least, it’s better than nothing.”

“I suppose that is where I fall into this,” Nicky finally said. “Unless you wish to go first, Nile?”

Nile shrugged and dug into her own breakfast, spearing a tomato slice on her fork before chomping down on it.

“I always knew you were up to something, Joe, but I never knew what,” she said. “I can’t believe that I’m glad you’re doing weird Indiana Jones shit, because my friends in the states and I? We came up with some _weird_ theories for your jet setting lifestyle.”

“I would love to hear some of these theories someday,” Joe remarked, and Nile smirked and leaned across the table.

“Dizzy thinks you’re a vampire and that you’ve been running around since the Crusades,” Nile said bluntly. “Because no one in the world would be THAT obsessed with the differences between the horse bridles of the French and the horse bridles of the Fatimid Caliphate unless they actually had to deal with them in action.”

Nicky barely suppressed a laugh, which came out as a snort, and Joe wished he could hear it again. It was sheer perfection, a lovely little sound of joy that was pure Nicky.

“Am I a sexy vampire?” Joe asked.

“Of course,” Nicky answered. “It goes without saying. It’s the only reason I didn’t turn you in when I caught you stealing from my museum.”

“Wait,” Qùynh interrupted, turning her impressive frown from Andy and onto Nicky. “You _knew_ about them?”

“Only about Joe, and I felt as if I had gone mad,” Nicky said, an apology in his every word. “I only met Andy and Booker yesterday.”

“You should have told me,” Qùynh retorted sharply.

“Yes,” Nicky agreed. “I should have.”

“You know, Nicky, it would be a million times easier to fight with you if you weren’t so fucking agreeable and sweet about all this,” Qùynh said, but there was a genuine smile on her face when she said it.

“If it helps, I’ve gone to confession many times and am still struggling over my moral obligations,” Nicky replied. He looked pointedly at Joe then, a small, fond smile on his face and in his eyes. He lifted an eyebrow and tilted his head, as if to say _“See? I also struggle with my wants.”_ Joe tilted his head in acknowledgement. _“Yes, and I love you all the more for it.”_

“Then I met up with you a few days ago and managed to pry a little bit out of the three of you,” Nile pointed to Joe, Andy, and Booker. “Then yesterday…”

“Book checked the paperwork on the items up for auction, I was his back up, we crashed the gala to let Joe know what was up, and…” Andy looked up at Qùynh, her eyes sad and mouth set in a firm line.

“It was an accident, I swear,” Andy said. “I’m not… I’m not trying to follow you around, it’s- I wouldn’t do that to you, Qùynh. You deserve peace after I fucked everything up between us.”

Qùynh was silent as she sipped on her coffee. The quiet dragged on at their table, growing more and more awkward with every second until Joe wondered what he should do to make it all better. Nicky, blessed Nicky with the kindness and patience of a saint, cleared his throat and set his mug down on the table.

“So what was it that you found, Booker?” Nicky asked. “It must have been serious if you couldn’t wait a day.” Joe breathed out a sigh of relief when Booker gladly followed Nicky’s lead and started to talk.

“It’s the Apollo statue. Amateur forged paperwork, can’t believe the auction house let that through,” Booker said derisively. “Shoddy enough that my sons could see through it. But Joe will need to examine it to see if the statue itself is a fake or not. I am not the expert.”

“You have kids?!” Nile yelped.

“Hmmm. Two boys. Since we’re being honest and open. I’m also married,” Booker fished around under his shirt and tugged out a gossamer thin chain where a thin gold band dangled.

“Wait, he was married this entire time, and you let me lecture you about shady guys and being careful?” Nile pressed, whirling around to stare at Joe. Joe laughed and shrugged.

“I am sorry, Nile, but you were quite emphatic,” Joe replied. “And it was good advice.”

“And your wife, Booker. She knows what you do?” Qùynh asked pointedly, glaring at Andy all the while. Andy stared down at her plate.

“Not the details, no, but she knows,” Booker confessed, and at Andy and Joe’s twin looks of surprise he curled up defensively. Joe never thought Booker could be such a hypocrite! After all the lectures about secrecy, about how getting Nicky involved was dangerous and ill-advised, how he should make a clean break- and his wife _knew_ the whole time?!

“Do you think I can keep secrets from Rochelle?” Booker demanded. “She always finds things out! I can’t even surprise her for her birthday because she knows what I’ve gotten!”

“... hypocrite,” Joe muttered.

“And Joe. You told Nicky right away. The day you met,” Qùynh interrupted bluntly, still glaring at Andy.

“He found out the day after we met. Technically. And confronted me the week after,” Joe said truthfully. Nicky was observant, and Joe admired how quickly he had recognized him that night in the museum. His Nicky was so clever!

“I would have asked sooner, but again. I thought I had gone crazy,” Nicky added, and, in a crushing afterword, he continued.

“Joe didn’t hide himself very well. He put on a baseball cap and a bandana and thought I wouldn’t recognize him. Like I was too stupid to not recognize his voice.” Joe winced at the comment, and even more at Booker’s smirk.

“Harsh, Nico. You could at least pretend I was mysterious and stroke my ego a little,” he complained. Qùynh sighed heavily and crossed her arms tightly over her chest.

“Fine. So Nicky found out on his own and sought you out, and Nile realized you were up to something because she’s Joe’s student. Former student,” Qùynh stated, and she turned her attention fully on Andy again.

“You trusted all of them. And you didn’t trust me. Your _wife_ ,” Qùynh said slowly, stressing each syllable. “You hid this part of your life from me, Andy. Why?”

“It’s complicated,” Andy muttered.

“I’ve got all day, Andromache, so feel free to untangle those knots,” Qùynh retorted. “You kept all this a secret from me, for _years_ , and let me believe that you didn’t want me, that we grew apart, that you were keeping secrets-“

“I didn’t- I wanted you to be safe!” Andy protested. “It’s a dangerous field of work, you’re a lawyer with prospects, I- I didn’t want to hurt you.”

“Well that’s stupid,” Qùynh shot back. “Considering what happened and how you hurt me anyways.”

“I fucked up, Qùynh. I knew it back when we broke up and I know it now. We both know I fucked up massively when it came to us,” Andy said. “And I’m sorry. I’m sorry I gave up and didn’t give you a chance. I’m sorry I hurt you. And I’m sorry that I keep on running into you like this and unsettling everything you’ve worked on.”

The table once again fell into an awkward silence, filled by the background sound of other diners on the patio, the noise from the street, and the rushing sound of the ocean waves in the distance. Somewhere off on another street a car alarm blared. A phone rang inside the cafe.

“So, now what?” Joe asked quietly. Nicky reached out over the table and gently lay his hand on Joe’s forearm.

“You see if that statue is authentic or not,” Nicky said. “Right?”

“You still want to do this? After they told us that they run a literal criminal enterprise you want _in_?” Nile whispered frantically.

“Is it stealing when it’s already been stolen?” Nicky asked cheekily, and witnesses be damned Joe was going to kiss this man.

“Yes,” Booker answered. “It absolutely is.”

“But the good kind of stealing,” Joe hastily added. “I don’t do this for money or fame.”

“You’re just an adrenaline junkie, I know,” Nicky teased, a smile dancing in his eyes now. Joe grasped his hand tightly and squeezed it.

“So… we’re doing this,” Nile said. “We’re actually doing this.”

“You can always back out,” Andy promised. “I won’t hold that against you, Nile.”

“No, no, I think this might be important,” Nile said. “Like, Greek statuary is Greek statuary, but if someone’s selling black market goods at auction…”

“There will always be some other artifact, right? Some other prize for a collection,” Qùynh murmured, and all eyes turned to her looking thoughtfully out past them towards the ocean. Joe wasn’t sure what to make of that quiet, that sudden disappearance of anger and hurt. It had all smoothed out in an instant into something removed. Calm.

“I want in,” she announced. “Whatever happens. I want to be part of this.”

No one argued with her. Booker poured himself another cup of coffee, and Joe breathed a sigh of what was almost relief when Nicky handed him the creamer and sugar Nile was hoarding.

“Now that’s settled, what is our plan?” he asked, and Joe wondered if it was too soon to propose marriage.

-

Joe was a wonder to watch in action, Nicky thought as they wandered through another museum together. He knew the artifacts almost as well as Joe, having seen things like them in the archives and during his own studies, but when he was with Joe it was like he breathed fresh life into every old vase and every battered tin cup. Joe made the tired world fresh and new, made Nicky look at it with eyes wide with wonder. And the art! Nicky didn’t know much about art beyond knowing if he liked a piece or not, but with Joe as his guide he was finding new things to appreciate and marvel over. But soon enough they had made their rounds through the museum and the many exhibits, and Joe suggested, with some mischief, that they enjoy the time they had left that day on the beach. Which is how they ended up spending half their afternoon dipping their feet in the cool waves, walking along the sandy beaches, and, finally, resting in the shade of a hastily purchased beach umbrella and large beach towel.

“I’d love to paint you someday,” Joe remarked casually as he lay back on the towel and looked up at Nicky, as if saying these sort of things was easy. “You have wondrous eyes.”

“All of our friends do, I believe,” Nicky replied. He could have dismissed it as simple flattery if those words came from anyone else’s lips, but Joe was always so earnest. Nicky couldn’t take the statement as anything other than Joe’s absolute truth: Joe thought Nicky’s eyes were wondrous and soulful. Nicky thought they were just eyes. It was Joe who was remarkable and worthy of painting, with his infectious smile and gentle brown eyes, his glossy black curly hair and soft beard- but Nicky wasn’t a painter. He could only look down at Joe and marvel at the glory of him.

“Yes, yes, but you’re the one I want to paint,” Joe insisted as he rose up to sit upright on the towel. “I don’t think I could ever tire of trying to capture your face and the subtleties of it.”

“Perhaps when we finish this… job,” Nicky suggested. “I’ll sit for a portrait as a reward.”

“Bribery,” Joe commented. “I should be offended, but I’ll take it. You should model for me. At least for a few paintings.” Joe reached over and brushed a bit of hair that was falling in Nicky’s eyes. His hand lingered for one brief moment to cup his cheek, to brush his thumb along his cheekbone, right under his eye. He rested his hand there for a beat. Two. Nicky leaned into his touch and wished they weren’t sitting on a crowded beach on a Sunday afternoon because otherwise he’d drag Joe down and strip him bare.

The ferocity in that desire, that need, should have alarmed him. It didn’t. Nicky was almost used to it by now. Joe slowly dropped his hand and smiled, a little pained and amused at the same time.

“Sorry,” he murmured. “Too much? Too fast?”

“No,” Nicky replied. “Bad timing, that’s all. Hotel’s too far, and I don’t want to get arrested for public indecency.” He would risk it, he wanted to risk it, but he pulled himself together long enough to gather his thoughts.

“So, you prefer painting?” Nicky asked, rather proud of the fact that he managed to keep his voice even and calm.

“I like sketching more, but I think you deserve at least one painting,” Joe answered. “Maybe more.”

“Paintings take up a lot of room,” Nicky said. “And time, from what I understand. Are you trying to lure me into your studio in London for a few months to play your muse?”

“My flat in London is small, but the kitchen is well equipped,” Joe replied. “And it has a shower tub combination.”

“Tempting,” Nicky murmured. He rose to his feet before he could be tempted further. He fixed Joe with his sternest look, channeling generations of the di Genova “not angry, just disappointed” aura onto Joe. Who, being an unrepentant flirt, only shrugged and smiled.

“You are incorrigible,” Nicky stated, drawing a laugh from Joe as he rose to his feet.

“Part of my charm,” Joe said cheekily, and he pressed his lips against Nicky’s cheek. His beard scratched against the tender skin of Nicky’s neck, and it took all his control to not turn his head and capture Joe’s mouth with his own.

“So. You’re going to authenticate the Apollo statue?” Nicky asked as he took Joe’s hand and led him down to the water’s edge.

“Tonight. Are you- you’re sure you want to do this, Nicky?” Joe asked. “Because you don’t have to.”

“I want to be a part of this, Joe,” Nicky murmured. “I want to help.”

“Then I will be glad to have you by my side,” Joe replied, and he lifted Nicky’s hand to his mouth to press a kiss to their interlaced hands.

“Besides,” Nicky added lightly as the surf roiled around their ankles, “you need someone to play lookout. I wouldn’t want you to be caught breaking in.”

“You’re the only one who has,” Joe said with a smile. “Though that does remind me. What were you doing in the museum that late when you caught me?”

Nicky flushed and looked away, which only seemed to make Joe all the more curious.

“Oh? Nicky, what were you doing at the museum?” he asked, delight and amusement dancing in his dark brown eyes, the laughter lines around his eyes and mouth deepening as he looked over at Nicky.

“... I fell asleep at my desk and got locked in for the night. Security had to let me out,” Nicky confessed, and Joe’s roar of laughter brought a smile to his face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's a little early, and I do intend to update on Sunday evening/Monday morning, but since this chapter is short I thought I would post it now. Thank you for reading!


	6. Chapter 6

It was a warm late summer evening when Joe and Nicky left for the auction house. The midnight blue sky was streaked with red that quickly faded to purple that blended into the darkness of the night. They stuck to the shadows and alleyways, Joe in his baseball cap and Nicky in an old black hoodie he packed “in case of bad weather.” Joe led, with Nicky following close behind, a little skip in his step and butterflies dancing in his stomach as they walked. Yes, they were walking into danger, but they were also heading into an adventure- and Nicky found himself looking forward to it.

“Andy says the back entrance is unlocked,” Joe informed him. “An air conditioner in the building mysteriously broke down two days ago, so a repair crew came in to fix it. And cameras will be down tonight, according to Booker.”

“Andy’s work?” Nicky asked, and Joe smiled at him, the wrinkles around his eyes deepening as he smiled with his entire face.

“She’s learned to be subtle, thanks to Booker’s influence,” Joe said. “In the early days she’d break a window at midnight and we’d scramble to authenticate pieces before the cops pulled up. Booker is a smoother operator than either of us.” He said the last part with a fond smile that made Nicky want to know more, so much more. What was Joe like in those early days? He seemed so confident and practiced now, but he was full of stories of all his missteps and near misses. Nicky wanted to know all of them.

“He really did forgeries, then?” It wasn’t a surprise, at least, not to Nicky. Booker seemed, at first glance, like the type who would get involved in shady operations. But after spending an hour or so waiting in a van with him and asking a few questions to coax him out of his shell, Nicky also learned that Booker was a family man, happily married with two sons and a bit of a homebody at heart. He even showed Nicky a picture of his family, all of them smiling and posing in front of the plaster cast of Dippy the _Diplodocus carnegii_ at the Great North Museum.

“Jean loves dinosaurs,” Booker explained, pointing to one boy with a broad grin and curly black hair. “And Michel will always follow his brother’s lead, at least for the moment. So we had to see Dippy.” The soft smile on his face as he looked at his sons posing in front of the dinosaur skeleton warmed Nicky to him instantly.

“He got mixed up in some things as a young man, kept trying to go clean but never could manage to make it stick until Andy came along,” Joe explained, pulling Nicky out of the memory and back to the present. “He’s doing a lot better now. I think we all are, really. Thanks to her.”

“You were struggling as well,” Nicky observed, watching the way Joe’s shoulders tensed for a millisecond before they relaxed completely, as if a weight had been lifted off his back.

“A lot of pressure, a lot of self-doubt. Self-loathing, too, though that was rarer,” Joe admitted. “Andy did a lot for us both. Gave us a sense of purpose, a new lease on life. I don’t think I’d be as passionate or driven in my work if not for her.”

“You three are close,” Nicky murmured, and Joe nodded before pulling Nicky down another sidewalk, another street, and then around the corner until they were walking in a back alley. Night had truly fallen now, and Joe led him between street lamps and into the shadows. Nicky felt a thrill run up his spine as they quietly walked together in the shadows- it was dangerous, yes, but there was a strange sense of fun to the danger.

“We are a family of choice, if you were to put words to it. We try to take care of each other, and I think we do alright most of the time,” he replied. “Ah, here we are.” He pointed to the back of one of the buildings that loomed in front of them. Nicky breathed in deeply, prayed that Joe couldn’t hear his heartbeat thudding against his ribcage, and gathered his courage.

“Should we knock?” he joked. Joe snorted before darting across the alley. By the time he reached the door his bandana was over his face. Nicky quickly followed suit, drawing the hood of his sweatshirt over his head.

“Let’s see if Andy came through,” Joe muttered, and he pulled the door open with one gloved hand. The door opened silently on well-oiled hinges, and they were in. As they moved through the shadowy back room of the auction house, Nicky squinted at every black mass, at every strange shape, trying to discover what could be lurking in the darkness. Who could be lurking.

“There we are,” Joe breathed out, and he walked over to a small glass display case that came up to his hip. He flicked on a flashlight and crouched next to the case. Nicky followed, keeping an eye on all the shadows. As his eyes adjusted to the darkness he began to make out the general layout of the room, where the windows were, where the doors were located.

“Booker says the owner’s out for dinner with a client,” Joe whispered. “Help me open this case.”

“Of course,” Nicky replied, pulling a borrowed pair of gloves out of his sweatshirt pocket and putting them on. He unlatched the case and carefully opened the door so Joe could gingerly grasp the small bronze statuette that lay within, cradled in dark blue velvet. He lifted it up slowly and held it in his hands, turning the statuette over in his hands.

“Beautiful,” Joe exclaimed softly, his voice full of a tender awe that made Nicky’s heart race. “Nicky, come look at this.”

Nicky looked over Joe’s shoulder and stared at the statuette- bronze, nude male, the musculature of the man’s body delicately defined. Apollo, God of the Sun, God of Medicine and Music, God of Prophecy- a god of so many things, a statue that probably saw much worship and admiration from the moment it was crafted until now, passing through time and place until it came to rest in Joe’s tender care and sharp, analytical gaze.

“It looks like Polykleitos’ work, but none I’ve ever seen. Perhaps Andy would know if there was one that is relatively unknown,” Joe mused. “Maybe not Polykleitos, then, but one of his disciples? Can’t be an original, they’d advertise that, but a copy? Roman, perhaps? It’s brass, but usually you would have a larger statue of marble. Not… this.” Joe turned the Apollo statuette over and over in his hands, gently brushing his gloved fingertips over Apollo’s delicately crafted face. But Nicky was fixated on Joe’s expression, the laser-like intensity in his eyes and the furrow of his brow.

“Perhaps a model, or practice for the bigger work?” Nicky suggested, and he hated breaking Joe’s concentration as he looked over the piece. But Joe smiled and glanced up at him, the light from the flashlight illuminating his face, his entire head, like a halo. Madre di Dio, he was beautiful!

“It’s possible. But I think,” Joe turned his attention back to the statuette, his smile wide. “Perhaps it is just a hunch, but it may be the idol for a household shrine.”

“A Lararium,” Nicky whispered. “But with Apollo? He wasn’t a common choice, as far as I’m aware. Mercury was far more popular, if you didn’t have Vestia.” Heracles was another popular idol in a Lararium, but Apollo? A strange choice. A rare choice.

Joe paused for a moment, listening to whoever was on the other end of his earpiece.

“Booker says that Andy says that if it is an Apollo idol, it may have belonged to a physician,” Joe said. “And he also says that Qùynh says to hurry up and authenticate the piece instead of nerding out and flirting.”

“Qùynh’s in the van with Booker and Andy?” Nicky asked. He knew Nile was at the cafe across the street, watching the auction house entrance just in case someone showed up at this hour, but he hadn’t thought Qùynh would join them. He hadn’t thought she would subject herself to being trapped in a van with Andy.

“She insisted,” Joe replied. “Refused to leave you without someone who was firmly on your side, or so Booker says.”

“Thank you, Qùynh,” Nicky said, feeling a little fuzzy bubble of fond happiness rise in his heart. Qùynh would always keep an eye on him, wouldn’t she? As soon as they were back in Liverpool he’d bake her a torte, or something equally sweet, as a proper way to convey his thanks.

“She says you’re welcome,” Joe replied, and he returned his attention to the statuette, muttering and turning it over and over in his hands. Nicky turned his attention to the storage room at large, scanning the area as Joe looked at the statuette. His attention was drawn to the door that led into the auction house. It was mostly hidden in the shadows of crates and boxes and furniture covered in ghostly white sheets. The bright red exit sign over the doorway glowed ominously in the darkness.

“There’s an inscription at the base, I can’t quite- thank you, Nicky,” Joe murmured when Nicky took the flashlight from Joe and angled it downwards so he had better lighting. “It’s in Latin!”

“Here,” Nicky whispered. He dug into the pocket of his hoodie and retrieved a small spiral notebook the size of his palm and a pen. “Need me to write it down?”

“You- right. Seminary. Here,” Joe held the statuette out so Nicky could write down the inscription. He took the flashlight back and waited as Nicky frantically scribbled the Latin script down- _Spiritus mendacium aquarum calentium in flumen oritur, qui in tenebris_. The spirit of healing lies in the river that is born in darkness. At least, that was what he thought it translated to, but his knowledge of Latin was mostly confined to religious texts and the lighting was terrible. Nicky shoved the notebook and pen back into his pocket and hoped that his writing was legible.

“It’s the real thing,” Joe finally said. “Fairly certain, at least, so we can either make off with it now or wait for confirmation from Andy-“ Joe paused. Muttered a curse under his breath, then gently placed Apollo back in his case before latching it shut and turning off the flashlight.

“Someone’s coming,” Joe explained. “We’ve got to move.”

“Here,” Nicky grabbed Joe’s arm and pulled him behind several crates that kept them well hidden from both exits. They waited together, heart pounding in Nicky’s throat as every second passed in agonizing silence. It felt like minutes dragged on before the door to the auction house opened. Nicky heard two sets of footsteps enter the storage room. The sound echoed throughout the room, but he was fairly certain they were heading towards the Apollo statuette.

“See? Mr. Merrick’s fears are unfounded. I run a tight ship here, Mr. Keane,” a man said crisply. “None of the merchandise has disappeared under the cover of night, as you can see. There is nothing to worry about.”

“I am glad to hear it. Mr. Merrick’s been looking for a reputable house to help transfer parts of his… extensive… collection,” another man, Mr. Keane, replied, his voice a low rumble. “I know it can’t be easy to keep up with the whims and fears of the eccentric billionaires of the world, but it will ease his mind to know that his pieces remain untouched.”

“Of course, of course,” the auction house owner assured Keane. “It’s an impressive find- a Roman copy of a Polykleitos? One that has previously eluded us? A treasure indeed. Did Mr. Merrick ever disclose where he came across it?”

“Not my place to say,” Keane said firmly. “His great-aunt was a known collector. Perhaps it came from her.” Beside him Joe sharply inhaled. Nicky looked over at him, at the grimace on his face, and wondered what went wrong- and he turned his attention back to the two men they were hiding from in the warehouse. Nicky would ask Joe what that was about later, when they were far away from this place.

“Ah. Of course,” the auction house owner said hastily. “Now, we can check on the rest of the goods if you wish, or are we finished here?”

“I am satisfied that the rest of the collection is as safely stored as the figurine,” Keane replied. “Are those jewel encrusted dueling pistols?” The footsteps began again, bouncing off the walls and ceiling, and Nicky held his breath as the far door, the door that led into the auction house, opened.

“Ah, the music box pistols! Quite a delightful trinket, perhaps Mr. Merrick would enjoy them? Will he be coming to the auction?” the owner asked cheerfully.

“He is unable to attend this auction, though what he is looking for for his collection lies elsewhere,” Keane said blandly. “Thank you for leaving your dinner to help soothe Mr. Merrick’s concerns.”

“If Mr. Merrick is still worried tomorrow, please feel free to come by in the morning,” the auction house owner insisted. “I will gladly go over security-“ the door to the auction house closed with a loud thud, and they were alone again.

Nicky waited in the silence for a second. Two. Then Joe breathed out slowly and gripped his hand tightly.

“Time to go,” he murmured, and he dragged Nicky out the back door and into the alleyway. Before he could even think Joe whirled around and kissed him, noses awkwardly smooshed together, laughter muffled against his mouth, dark eyes sparkling in the half-light of the alleyway.

“Joe, we need to move!” Nicky mumbled, even as he wound his arms around Joe’s neck and pulled him towards him until his back was against the sun-warmed brick and Joe was in front of him, surrounding him, one hand on his hip and the other pulling the hood of his sweatshirt off his head- it was perfect. And idiotic. Clearly all the blood had flown from his head and straight to his cock because he couldn’t rationalize why he and Joe shouldn’t make out in a back alley behind the auction house they just broke in and out of.

“Sorry, just,” Joe kissed him again. “You heard what he said, right? A Polykleitos! Here!” He stopped and winced.

“Sorry, I- we need to meet up with Booker and the others,” Joe apologized, stepping back from Nicky and letting them have a moment to breathe. Just… breathe. Nicky tried to muffle his laughter, but the little sighing huff of a laugh turned into a low chuckle, which transformed into unrestrained cackling as he and Joe ran through the alleys hand in hand, back to the van where Andy, Booker, Nile, and Qùynh were waiting.

-

“Do you always get worked up after a job well done?” Nicky asked breathlessly as they stumbled into Joe’s hotel room nearly an hour later. Their entire debriefing was filled with sexual tension as they were chewed out by Andy for “not following mission protocol” as Booker looked on with amusement, Qùynh bit her lip and tried not to laugh, and Nile looked like she’d rather have been anywhere else.

(“Seriously? Couldn’t go for one night without making out? Booker had to listen to you two!” she exclaimed, and pointed towards Booker, who had a little, triumphant smirk on his face.

“To be fair, Boss, I chucked the earpiece as soon as I realized what they were doing,” Booker remarked.)

“I think you bring it out in me, Nicky,” Joe teased, and he sandwiched Nicky between himself and the hotel door. He tangled his fingers in Nicky’s hair and dragged him down into a heated kiss, tongues and teeth clashing in a messy battle where, for once, everyone won.

“At least the feeling is mutual,” Nicky breathed out, the blue green of his eyes nearly swallowed up by the black of his pupils. “Shirt off.” He tugged at the hem of Joe’s shirt insistently, fingers skimming along the strip of skin right above the waistband of his jeans.

“Bossy,” Joe teased, though he complied, tearing the plain t-shirt over his head and tossing it aside before diving back in to kiss Nicky again, softer and longer and lingering. He soaked up every gasp and shaky touch like he was a bone-dry desert and Nicky was the long awaited rain. Was this too much, too fast? Judging by the way Nicky was rolling his hips and how he slotted his thigh between Joe’s legs, it was too little and too slow, but still-

“We’re good? This is- I’m not pushing too quickly, am I?” He asked, clinging to the edges of Nicky’s hoodie and his sanity.

“Joe,” Nicky announced solemnly, sea eyes gleaming with mischief and want, “if you don’t let me suck you off right now I’m going back to my hotel room, and I’ll take care of myself there.”

Joe groaned and let Nicky push him towards the bed. He thought Nicky would be sweet- his kisses were normally soft, his touches careful, but this was Nicky and he always surprised him. Always. Nicky slapped his hands away when he tried to unfasten his jeans, insisting on doing it himself while they kissed, and he tugged them down sharply until they tangled in a messy heap around his ankles. Joe kicked them off to join wherever his shirt ended up. He sat on the edge of the bed, breathless, as Nicky kneeled and took his cock in his hand.

“You’re too gorgeous to be allowed,” Nicky muttered, his breath teasing the sensitive skin before he pressed the flat of his tongue against the base of Joe’s cock and licked up and Joe nearly whited out from the shock and pleasure and knowledge that Nicky, his Nicky who worried about everyone and carried bandages and antibiotic ointment in his pockets was on his knees, sucking his cock and looking up at him with a smile in his eyes.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Joe groaned. “Fuck, Nicolò, _Nicky_ , you’re a marvel.”

Nicky was also a little shit. Joe swore he felt the man smirk around his dick before he hummed, and then deepthroated his cock like he was a champion of cocksucking. In the face of such industry and determination Joe was helpless. He gripped Nicky’s hair in his hands, more as an anchor for himself than as a guide for Nicky, who clearly knew what he was doing. He watched Nicky through the haze of lust and need, and Nicky? Nicky was looking back at him with his big blue-green eyes, and it was a firm reminder that this wasn’t just an excellent blowjob in a hotel room. This was Nicky, and it _meant_ something special because it was him and Nicky together. His orgasm hit like a tidal wave, like a truck, and Joe muffled his shout with his arm as Nicky milked him through it. Joe collapsed on the bed in a sweaty, breathless heap while Nicky laughed softly.

“What?” Joe mumbled, opening his eyes to take in the sight of Nicky, flushed pink and hair a complete mess from where Joe held onto it.

“You,” Nicky said simply. “You make a lot of noise.”

“I tried being quiet,” Joe retorted with a laugh. “But the world should know that you give great head.”

“I’m sure your neighbors will be delighted to know all about this new aspect of our relationship soon enough,” Nicky replied with a slightly devious smile. “I’m not done with you.”

“And I’m not done being had,” Joe murmured. “Hoodie off, I want to see you.”

“Now who’s demanding?” Nicky teased as he slowly stripped off his hoodie and pants, his shirt and his boxers, until he was standing nude in the moonlight, skin like marble and eyes like opals, full of fire and life. Yet another facet of Nicky, another part that made him the man he was, and Joe loved it. Loved him.

Perhaps that was a strong declaration that came far too quickly, but Joe had always known his mind and his heart. He knew what he wanted, what he cared for, and he knew, just as he knew the sky was blue and water was wet and that there was beauty in the everyday artifacts of the past, that he loved Nicky. How could he not adore his kindness, his passion, his determination to see and do good wherever he could? How could he not adore the mix of patience and passion and mischief that made Nicky who he was? Joe loved him, and that was all there was to it.

And Nicky?

Nicky crawled up onto the bed with him, pressing his side against Joe’s to share warmth. He tossed one bare leg over Joe’s legs, tangling them together. Joe turned his head to the side to look at Nicky’s face and the way shadow and light danced across his features.

“You seemed far away, Joe,” Nicky remarked quietly. “What took you from me?”

“You,” Joe confessed. “I’m rather hopelessly drawn to you, Nicky. I am but the ocean to your moon, and you compel me to rise and to fall and to rise again like the tide.” His voice was hoarse and small, even in his tiny hotel room, but Joe knew, always knew, that his words were safe with Nicky. He was safe with Nicky.

“I do not have the words for it,” Nicky whispered, propping himself up on his elbow to look down at Joe, and oh, his face. His _smile_ , the way he seemed to glow from within- 

“I can’t say more than to say I feel the same, Yusuf al-Kaysani. Joe. And I will be by your side in all things,” he promised, and Joe laughed, delirious with joy. He rolled over on the bed until Nicky was trapped underneath him, laughing and smiling up at him, moonlight turning his eyes silver. Joe briefly thought of the Apollo statuette in the auction house storage room, of the delicate face, the beautiful features, the unsmiling mouth, and smirked. Polykleitos could have only dreamed of capturing beauty such as Nicky’s in bronze and marble.

“I am so, so glad you no longer call me Dr. al-Kaysani,” Joe said.

“I can always bring it back,” Nicky mused. “Role-play is kinky. Might be fun.”

“Nicolò, where did you come from?” Joe asked, marveling at the wonder that was Nicolò di Genova.

“As you told Andy,” Nicky said cheekily as he twined his arms around Joe and pulled him close. “You found me in a museum.”

-

“Oh fucking hell,” Nile announced when Joe and Nicky arrived at another cafe for breakfast the next morning, sleep rumpled and holding hands. “Are we- are you guys honeymooning? Is this a honeymoon?” She gestured at the two of them with her hand. 

Joe shrugged and smiled helplessly- it wasn’t as if he could deny her accusation. He woke up with Nicky in his arms and it felt like his heart would burst from the joy of it. And when Nicky rolled over in his arms and whispered good morning Joe wondered how he could ever go back to sleeping alone in his flat in London. He wasn’t miserable there, far from it, but after knowing that he could be far more than simply content Joe knew his heart wouldn’t settle for less than sheer domestic bliss. He could already see Nicky’s books placed alongside his on the shelf, his knife and sword collection hanging on the wall next to his artwork, the kitchen alive with color and sound and smells, and Nicky’s giant black and white cat Callisto sleeping on the back of the couch. This dream could wait, Joe told himself. Patience was a virtue, and this dream was worth waiting for.

They weren’t the last ones to breakfast, which Joe took as a good sign. He was terrible about waking up on time- far more of a night owl than a morning person. But Nicky was apparently an early riser and he made sure the two of them got out of bed in time. So they managed to stroll into the cafe alongside Booker and Andy. They met up with Nile and Qùynh, who had already selected a corner table, drinking coffee and chatting.

“What do you think, Nicky? Honeymoon?” Joe asked, remarkably pleased with the impressive trail of dark red marks he left along Nickey’s collarbone, his plain white button-down shirt barely covering the evidence of the previous evening’s activities. He let his gaze linger on the elegant line of Nicky’s throat and the juncture where his neck met his shoulders and wondered if there was any part of Nicky that wasn’t attractive.

“To have a proper honeymoon we’d have to have a wedding first,” Nicky pointed out, taking the seat between Booker and Qùynh while Joe sat across from him. “And I don’t know about you, but my mother and sisters will disown me if I return to Genoa without having a proper Catholic ceremony. Preferably in my home parish.” He emphasized the last part with a dramatic eye roll, conveying a feeling that Joe could empathize with well. His mother would be _furious_ if turned up in Delft with a husband.

“Catholic Church doing gay weddings now?” Andy asked skeptically.

“No. But that won’t stop my mother,” Nicky replied ominously. “Or my sisters.”

“I didn’t think Giulia or Bianca would care if you get married by a priest or not, Nicky,” Qùynh pointed out. “But they’ll be pissed if you show up _married_ and you didn’t invite them to the wedding. Or introduce them to the groom.” 

“Oh, they know about Joe,” Nicky said breezily. “I mentioned his name and my mother follows him on Twitter.”

“Your _mother_ follows me on Twitter?” Joe asked, and Nicky’s smile fell on him like a sunbeam.

“Yes. She says you’re very handsome,” Nicky replied, and Joe was rather touched. “My sisters informed me that you’re a giant nerd, so it is no wonder I like you.” Joe laughed, settling back into his seat before folding his arms behind his head.

“Glad I made a good impression, then,” he said. “So, to business?”

“Yes, thank you,” Andy said crisply. “So. Polykleitos. It’s a big ticket item. And we’re fairly certain it’s authentic.” She poured coffee into her mug and pulled a pen and small notebook out of her backpack. While she scribbled down notes in her bizarre shorthand (a ragtag mix of several languages), Qùynh quietly pushed the sugar across the table until it rested in front of Andy. Andy dumped a spoonful into her coffee and stirred without looking up.

“The one thing that’s bothering me is how Merrick got his mitts on our Apollo,” Andy grumbled. “Illegally, obviously, because if it were even close to legitimate he’d gleefully advertise it for the clout. And why is he _selling_ it? It’s exactly the sort of item a collector would hold onto for bragging rights, even in private. Unless it’s a fake.”

“Unless it’s a fake,” Qùynh agreed softly. “But it isn’t, is it, Joe?”

“Light wasn’t perfect, but I am certain it’s real. A bronze copy of a Polykleitos,” Joe shook his head, still a little stunned by the weight of the discovery. It wasn’t the most remarkable artifact he’d ever stumbled across, but it was still breathtaking. Awe-inspiring.

“Yeah,” Nile added. “Like, if I were going to sell a fake, I’d try and go big. Lie and say I found an original or something. It’s not too far of a stretch. I mean, it’s a copy of a previously unknown statue.”

“Too obvious,” Booker replied. “Even this is pushing it, but if Joe says it’s authentic…” He shrugged and poured himself another mug of coffee.

“D’you think… well, we’re all aware Merrick’s ‘found it in my auntie’s attic’ story is bullshit, yes?” Qùynh said, and at (almost) everyone’s slow agreement she continued to speak.

“Maybe he needs money. Money that he can’t pull from his other considerable resources,” Qùynh said. “So he has to sell off bits and pieces of his collection. Can we trace his, ah, purchases?”

“I like the way you think,” Booker announced. “I can look into it.” He had already pulled out his phone and was quickly typing something out- probably making notes of which sources he could contact on the island. Booker’s connections were nearly as numerous as Andy’s. Someone would know something about Merrick’s previous dealings- at least, something they didn’t already know.

“I- hey, wait a second,” Nile said slowly. “Didn’t… Joe, remember that auction for the Egyptian chariot? You know, the one from, like, how many years ago was it? Six? Seven?”

Joe grimaced and clenched his jaw so tightly he worried he might crack a tooth. The chariot, the _fucking_ chariot! 

“Joe?” Nicky asked quietly, and Joe felt something nudge at his calf, a gentle kick that turned into a caress from his ankle to his knee. Joe met Nicky’s gaze across the table and drowned in the concerned expression in his eyes.

“Motherfucker,” Joe grumbled, letting his muscles relax and the tension ease. “Yes, Nile, I remember the chariot. Seven years, to be precise.”

“First day of class, I’m a senior and taking Joe’s seminar for the first time because all his courses are high level and they filled up so fast it was hard to get into one earlier,” Nile confided to the table. “Anyways. So there we are, all wide eyed and excited about Dr. al-Kaysani lecturing us, and we’re all ready to talk about Renaissance art and the syllabus, blah blah blah, but then Joe storms in and rants about colonialism and theft for an hour. Because of this damn chariot!”

Nicky tried to hide his smile behind his hand, but his little snort of a laugh turned into a hearty, quiet chuckle in mere seconds. Joe tried to look appropriately cross, failed, and cracked a smile. It was hard to be indignant when Nicky had such a lovely smile and laugh.

“It was _infuriating_ , Nicky,” he said, trying to convey just how terrible and distressing it all was. “An entire chariot! In some asshole’s private collection!”

“To be fair to Joe, we were _going_ to steal it. It just got scooped up before we could solidify our plan,” Booker explained. “It’s hard to rent a van big enough to hide a fucking chariot, you know.”

“You were saying about the chariot, Nile?” Andy asked, bringing the table back to the topic at hand.

“Like, I remember telling Dizzy about it. And Jay thought it was so funny she dove down the rabbit hole and, uh… guy who sold the chariot? Stephen Merrick,” Nile said. “Wanna bet it was from his great aunt’s collection or what?”

“To be fair,” Andy said slowly, “all of my aunts and uncles, and great-aunts and great-uncles, had many, _many_ things in their… collections. Some hoard newspapers, others hoard art and artifacts.”

“ _You_ practically lived in a museum yourself, Andy,” Qùynh said pointedly.

“The family estate. You know I hate that place,” Andy retorted. “I’ve been returning everything I can, donating most of it. I’m keeping the weapons if I can’t trace a family, but otherwise they’re going to new homes. Had to return a katana and wakizashi to the great great grandson of the original owner last year, which hurt, but it was the right thing to do.”

“I _don’t_ know that you hate the manor,” Qùynh retorted, her tone blunt. “I thought you did, but considering how little I knew about your life-“ She shook her head and pulled out her phone, and Joe gently nudged Nicky’s foot with his. Nicky barely shook his head, his blue eyes shifting between Qùynh, Andy, back to Qùynh before finally resting on Joe.

Let them work through this on their own, Nicky’s eyes said, and Joe trusted Nicky’s judgement.

“Back to Merrick and his mystery aunt- it’s not like his family was big into collecting, right?” Nile asked. “Do you know? Rich people are weird but I’m fairly certain you can keep track of who buys what ancient artifacts from where.”

“More in the modern art scene, from my rudimentary research,” Booker muttered. “But I may have skipped something. I can look into my sources?”

“What sources?” Nicky asked.

“Old contact from my past. He’s perfectly clean, works at Interpol, but he might be interested in looking into Merrick if I suggest Merrick’s selling stolen goods for financial gain,” Booker explained. “We worked together once. Very professional. Didn’t ask too many questions.”

“It’s only a theory. We can’t prove it,” Qùynh said cautiously. “Don’t take any unnecessary risks.”

Andy laughed, the sound startling Joe. Andy’s laugh was a rare thing, and to hear it without any bitterness or exhaustion was… it was surprising. And very, very welcome.

“You? Telling us to not take risks?” Andy asked, staring at Qùynh until it seemed like the rest of the world disappeared around them and it was only them and the table between them.

“Surprise! I know when to be cautious,” Qùynh retorted, and there was something that was almost a smile on her face when she spoke, but her face soon turned down into a worried frown and she looked away, the moment gone.

“Then there’s the inscription on the base of the statue,” Nicky murmured, and he tugged his small notebook out of his pocket and flipped to the Latin he scribbled down last night. Joe watched as Nicky mumbled the Latin out loud, frowning at his scribbles, his eyes hooded as he read.

“Spiritus mendacium aquarum calentium in flumen oritur, qui in tenebris. The spirit of healing lies in the river that is born in darkness,” Nicky said. “But my Latin is rusty. I don’t know if it is right, only close.”

“Andy? Any thoughts?” Joe asked.

“It’s odd. Not typical of statuary of the time period. ‘The spirit of healing lies in the river that is born in darkness,’” Andy recited. “Or it could be ‘The medicine spirit lives in the dark river.’ It could also be ‘The God of Medicine lives in the river born of the dark.’ And if it was translated from the original Greek it could very well have mistranslations. Or it could just be graffiti and mean nothing.”

“So… it’s an inscription on a statue of Apollo, God of Medicine, and it’s about a river,” Nile said. “It’s like a riddle, or a clue of some kind. It’s like- like a scavenger hunt! Or National Treasure, but without Nicholas Cage. Like, find all the clues and find the treasure at the end of it- and Apollo’s our clue!”

“Maybe the script is a reference to a hot spring? Heracles healed after his adventures in a spring,” Andy suggested. “Of course, that’s a completely different spring and it’s supposed to be in Greece, but you know. Healing and water. Though you think it would be paired with a statue of Asclepius, not Apollo. After all, Apollo has so much more that he is god of- music, the sun, a fertility god... ” Andy trailed off and stared into her coffee mug. Qùynh nudged the coffee pot over the table towards Andy.

“Healing waters. So it’s a clue that leads to some sort of medicinal spa?” Qùynh asked skeptically. “You’d think Merrick would want to keep the statue, then use it to find his way there. Then he can build some luxury spa and charge rich people through the nose to use it. If it even exists at all.”

“It all sounds absurd,” Booker grumbled. “But if we make the assumption that these assumptions are true, perhaps the cryptic Latin was meant to hide the secret hot spring, hmm? Maybe the place Merrick stole Apollo from holds more clues?”

“Where did Merrick find this, I wonder,” Joe mused. Something felt off about the entire thing, but he couldn’t put his finger on what was making him uneasy. The Apollo statue was authentic, a bronze copy of the original Polykleitos (or a student of his school, Joe hastily added) but still. It was authentic. The real deal. But the inscription… that was a different thing entirely. It was a mystery, a secret that pricked at Joe’s curiosity. It made him want to dive into research, into theories, and into the past. Apollo couldn’t be the only artifact Merrick found, couldn’t be the only one he was trying to sell off. And for what? So many questions, and very few answers, but Joe knew they had to start their search somewhere.

“First, we need to find the provenance,” Joe decided. “The _real_ provenance. It’s the only way we can even begin to unravel this cryptic engraving and figure out what Merrick wants out of all of this. It wouldn’t hurt to secure that Apollo, though. Keep it with us for the time being, like we originally intended.”

“I suppose I’ll grab your Apollo for you after all,” Andy grumbled. “I wish you and Nicky stole the fucking thing when you had the chance.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for my dreadful Latin. Thank you for reading!


	7. Chapter 7

It was cool in the auction house. The fans turned overhead, the buzz of the motor and the rotation of the fan blades a dull hum in the background as they waited patiently, paddles in hand, for the damn statue of Apollo to make its appearance. All this for some ancient bronze! Nicky knew he was irritable because of the suit- he hated it, wished he could burn it, but it was the only suit he owned and everyone insisted he wear it. He had to look the part for the stakeout, he supposed, though all he was really doing was listening and watching for any signs of Merrick and his associates. Joe, Andy, and Booker insisted that they would handle everything else, and he trusted their judgement. Mostly. Nicky could endure the restrictive cut and material of the suit for one evening, especially if it meant that Joe would be the one to help him take it off when they returned to their hotel room.

Focus on the job at hand, Nicky sternly reminded himself. All they had to do was get a hold of the Apollo statue. Well, he amended, Andy would do the actually grabbing. Then, when they safely had the statue, they’d give it a careful examination, really look at the Latin script, and then? Nicky wasn’t sure where they would go next, but he knew, deep in his soul, that they would all do this together. They were meant to find each other, and they were meant to work this mystery out between the six of them. He was growing more and more certain that it was not a coincidence that they ran into each other- they were supposed to meet here in Malta. This was meant to be.

“How are you holding up, Nicky?” Nile asked as she passed by him. Her golden brown skin gleamed in the light, and her smile eased Nicky’s nerves. As much as he trusted Joe, and by extension Andy and Booker, it was comforting to know that someone else was in the same metaphorical boat that he found himself in.

“Well enough, Nile,” he said politely. “You look lovely.”

“Thanks. I feel underdressed. Like, wow,” she tilted her head over towards Qùynh, who was wearing a red cocktail dress that shimmered like fire when she moved across the floor and made conversation with everyone she met. She lingered near the buffet table covered in white linen and crowded with glasses filled with champagne. Nicky wondered if he could slink behind some of the large potted ferns in the corner and try to catch his breath. He didn’t thrive in crowds or the spotlight, unlike some people.

“Qùynh has always been… extra? Is that the term?” Nicky asked, and at Nile’s giggle he continued. “She thinks ‘why not take the time to make a scene,’ and then she proceeds to steal the show.” Qùynh quickly volunteered to gather information about the other buyers at the auction, taking to the task like a fish took to swimming, and Nicky was almost jealous of how easily she slotted into the work while he floundered. But, as Andy assured him, he didn’t have to do much more than ‘stand around and look pretty,’ because it would distract other auctioneers from anything odd happening around the auction house. Booker suggested he keep an eye out for Merrick (“The rat is bound to make an appearance,” he claimed.). 

Either way Nicky felt a little useless, at least when it came to this part of the job. Translations and theorizing he could do, but the cloak and dagger aspect was uncomfortable. New. Nicky wondered if Joe found the subterfuge and intrigue difficult at first, or if it came naturally. He wondered if this was something he could do- he wanted to help, believed that Joe and the others were right to interfere in this auction if it meant interfering with Stephen Merrick’s plans, but Nicky wondered if he would ever manage to carve out a niche for himself in this group.

“Andy certainly notices Qùynh,” Nile observed quietly. “If she’s trying to hide the pining she’s not trying very hard.”

“No, she isn’t,” Nicky replied softly. Privately he wondered if Qùynh was doing this- throwing herself into Andy’s schemes- on purpose. Was she trying to shine, to burn brighter than anyone else, to show that she wasn’t hurt? Prove that she was doing fine? Better than fine? Qùynh could be vicious when she wanted and needed to be, but Nicky knew her well enough to know that she wasn’t even close to fine. Andy clearly wasn’t. Qùynh hid her pain and longing better, but it was there, lurking just under the surface as she and Andy danced around each other, staring when the other wasn’t looking, raw longing written in both their eyes.

“I’m going to walk around the room,” Nile whispered. “I think I recognize the old couple over there from the conference- they might know some of the other auction goers.”

“Go ahead,” Nicky replied quietly. “I’m keeping an eye on things.” He was trying to listen for the voice of Merrick’s right-hand man, Keane, over the low hum of conversation and the fans above. Nile waved and walked off, circling the room before casually bumping into the couple she indicated. Nicky returned his attention to the milling groups of people and listened for that voice. He hoped he failed to hear Keane’s low rumble. He hoped the man wasn’t here. He hoped that he was satisfied with whatever the auction house owner showed him that morning and left the city, left the island completely. Madre di Dio, a mercenary? Nicky hoped the man left, hoped that the cloud of worry, of fear, hanging over him was nothing but him jumping at shadows. But the little bubble of worry in his heart stubbornly lived, and Nicky had long learned to trust his own instincts.

A now familiar strong arm wrapped loosely around his waist, and Nicky leaned into the pillar of confident, easy strength that Joe provided. Everything seemed just a little bit easier with Joe by his side, and Nicky could believe that everything would go well. Joe did these sorts of things hundreds of times, and they had all gone perfectly. Save for the one time Nicky caught him, of course, but still. He could do this. _They_ could do this. All they had to do was guarantee that they ended up with Apollo by the end of the night and hope they didn’t experience the wrath of one pharmaceutical billionaire and his private security force.

“So, having a nice time?” Joe teased, smiling broadly. Nicky returned the smile and nudged Joe’s hip with his own. Joe was wearing the same suit and tie from the gala, and Nicky still wanted to tear the plum colored silk off his neck, wanted to drag him into a kiss with the tie, but he merely smiled and let Joe hold onto him, hand lightly resting on his hip.

“Nile was keeping me company while we waited,” Nicky replied. “How are things...going?” He said it hesitantly, not wanting to be overheard, but it seemed that the other guests were preoccupied with their own conversations.

“Booker’s monitoring security, so I need to check in on him. Andy’s tracking the statuette- it’s being carried out right now- see?” Joe gestured towards a box covered in dark fabric that was being wheeled out.

“So we try to make sure Andy gets the statue?” Nicky asked. “That’s it?”

“Nothing that serious, don’t worry,” Joe replied. “None of the big antiquities collectors are here, as far as I can tell. Merrick must want to keep a low-profile. Just play the part of a normal auction-goer and listen for anything odd. Andy knows what she’s doing.”

“Is Merrick even here?” Nicky asked softly. “I didn’t get a good look at his bodyguard-“

“Head of security, if we want to be technical,” Joe interrupted. “I don’t see him, or Merrick.”

“Do you know them personally?” Nicky wondered how many people Joe knew from his line of work, how many shady figures lingered like ghosts in his past. There had to be many, many people that Joe made enemies of, Nicky realized, and suddenly his heart dropped- Joe was putting himself at great risk doing this. It was far more than putting his career on the line. A man with a private militia and no ethical standards could and would do anything to achieve his goals. _Anything_. With the rising fear came clarity. Joe knew exactly how dangerous all this was, and was doing it anyways because it was what was right, what was just, and he’d keep on pushing forward in his quest, private armies be damned.

How could Nicky do anything but fall in love with this man?

“By reputation only. We run in different circles,” Joe admitted. “Andy and Booker know more, since they dealt with his security once while I investigated a dig site in Nepal. Still don’t know what Merrick was searching for, but evidence indicates he didn’t find it. He and his team moved on a week later and left a mess I had to help clean up with some other archeologists in the region.” Something in Joe’s voice told Nicky that there was more, so much more, to this story, but Joe did not elaborate, so Nicky chose not to pry. For now.

“Someday you’ll have to tell me,” he murmured. “I would like to know exactly who we are dealing with.” He wondered for a brief second if Joe heard him say ‘we,’ but he didn’t need to wonder long. The soft expression in Joe’s eyes and his smile said that he heard it, heard Nicky, and that was enough to go on.

“Andy calls Merrick a colonizer of the worst sort,” Joe explained. “And I’m inclined to agree. He’s a fucking ass.”

“He sounds like it. I suppose I should be glad we’re dealing with him, and not someone who is well-meaning,” Nicky remarked. “You and Andy are careful when you pick your targets.”

“Sebastian was the one who set up this job,” Joe murmured, pressing slightly closer to Nicky, turning towards him, brushing his hand lightly along Nicky’s shoulder to guide him towards a slightly less crowded corner of the auction hall.

“Booker organized this? And I thought you were trying to enjoy a Mediterranean vacation,” Nicky retorted, but the laughter on his lips died when he looked into Joe’s face. The smile was there, but the tension in his shoulders and furrow in his brow told a different story.

“... you’re worried,” Nicky whispered.

“More than usual, I guess. Lots of changes with you and Nile and Qùynh, and it’s Merrick,” Joe explained. “Book hates him- not that I blame him. Lots of bad blood, on a personal and professional level.”

“They worked together?”

“Ages ago,” Joe replied. “Sebastian insists it was small-time work, a forgery here or there, but things quickly soured between them. And then Jean got sick and Merrick’s pharma company jacked up the prices on the medicine he needed, not out of anything personal, just Merrick being a shit person in general- don’t worry, he’s in remission and out of danger now. It was just… scary for a few years.”

“Understandable,” Nicky murmured, thinking back on those pictures of that beaming family, of the quiet pride and love that lit up Booker’s tired face when he spoke of his wife and sons, and some things grew just a little clearer.

“But you’re still worried,” Nicky pointed out. Joe didn’t deny it, and Nicky was glad for it. It would have been easier to lie, to comfort him with denials, but Joe’s small shrug and sigh was all the more valuable to him.

“He might lose sight of the goal,” Joe confessed. “Especially if he gets the chance to fuck with Merrick. He’s going to take it.” Nicky wanted to know everything, desperately wanted to know (he was always too curious for his own good, always drawn to mysteries and secrets and puzzles waiting to be solved), but he held back. Not his mystery, not his secret, and people’s lives were not puzzles to piece together for his amusement. All he could do was work with what he knew, and he knew more than he did minutes before.

“I’ll keep an eye on him,” Nicky promised.

“Glad to have someone with a cool head on the team,” Joe teased, leaning in to press his forehead against Nicky’s. Nicky stared into Joe’s eyes and found it impossible to not smile, but he still tried to maintain a serious expression. They were, after all, working.

“Someone has to,” Nicky said primly as he pulled away from Joe. “Ah, I suppose they are starting.” He pointed towards the front of the auction house, where the crowd was more densely gathered. Joe squeezed his hip gently and untangled their arms.

“Looks like it,” Joe said with a smile. “Sit tight, alright? I’m going to check in with the others.” Joe walked away casually, slowly, as if he hadn’t a care in the world. Nicky lost sight of him in the crowd.

The actual auction was a blur of activity. He couldn’t even remember much beyond the vivid display of colors, the crier calling out the lot number and describing the items on the block, the rising of paddles, the numbers growing ever higher as the bidding grew more intense… it was a lot to take in. Nicky focused on the numbers- an obscene amount of euros, really- and he listened to prices rise until it mercifully ended and someone finally won whatever was on the table. But the money! Nicky’s mind was reeling from the realization that someone spent millions upon millions of euros on a vase. One night, and they spent _millions_! He could barely wrap his mind around that amount of money, or the ability to simply lay it down as if it was normal to spend so much for one item in one night!

“Madre di Dio,” he breathed out.

“No wonder Andy wants to steal the damn thing,” Nile whispered, having somehow joined him on the floor while he wasn’t looking. “That’s- holy fucking shit.”

Nicky agreed, nodding his head slightly. He looked to his right, searching for Joe, but could not find him. He caught sight of Booker, who waved sheepishly before making his way towards them. He smiled tightly and shoved his hands into the pockets of his suit trousers.

“Problems?” Booker asked quietly, and Nile snorted.

“Yeah, I think I’m going into shock,” Nile muttered.

“Is everything alright? Joe-“ Nicky asked, but Booker interrupted him.

“Decided that I was too emotionally compromised and took over,” Booker grumbled. “He’s trying to be _considerate_.” He rolled his eyes at the remark, and Nicky heard the fondness in his voice clearly. But the hard edge of anger was still there, barely restrained, like Booker was ready to lash out and fight anyone who even looked at him wrong.

“Did you run into Merrick or his hired men?” Nicky asked, and Booker froze in place.

“I won’t ask for details, and if you don’t want to speak of it I’ll respect it and won’t pry. But you have to keep a clear head, Sebastian,” Nicky murmured hastily. “Joe knows that, and I believe you do as well.”

Booker chuckled, the sound raspy, like he was shocked into making a noise he didn’t usually make. The anger and tension within him fled, like a balloon seeping air until he was deflated.

“Damn, Joe told you everything?” Booker muttered.

“No,” Nicky retorted calmly. “But he told me enough to know that you have a personal grudge with him. Which makes sense.”

“It’s very personal. Sorry,” Booker said. “I- nothing against you or Nile, really, you both seem lovely, but-“

“We aren’t good enough friends to unlock your tragic backstory, it’s cool,” Nile said easily. “But you could have given us normal people some warning about this place. It’s ridiculous!” She sharply gestured out towards the crowd, encompassing the auction stage and the next item being wheeled up for sale- a book. Booker laughed, the grimace fading from his face.

“I don’t think anything I could say would prepare you for-“

“Is this what Andy’s been doing this whole time?” Qùynh interrupted, having crossed the room to join them. “Throwing her money around at auctions? Buying up artifacts to give them away?”

“Hardly,” Booker snorted. “She will fund missions when we need it, but we get by on a loose association of like-minded individuals most of the time. There are a few treasure-hunters here and there that we butt heads with when we run into each other, but we all manage to work things out to everyone’s mutual discontent.”

“That is hardly the comfort you seem to think it is,” Nicky said dryly. How many enemies- or frenemies- did Joe and his friends have? And what could Nicky possibly do to help them succeed? Did he have anything to contribute to this crew?

“We’ve gotten through worse,” Booker muttered. “This is a cakewalk.”

Qùynh’s little disbelieving scoff conveyed exactly what Nicky thought: they thought that stealing a statue from an auction where people spent a few million euros on items was going to be easy?! Nicky tried to take some comfort in the fact that they were professionals- at least, Joe, Booker, and Andy were professionals. But what came after this? They retrieve Apollo, confirm Nicky’s hasty translation of the Latin inscription, and then what? Discover what Merrick was doing with the statue? Uncover some great mystery involving death, healing, and water? What came next?

It didn’t matter. All they had to do, Nicky reminded himself, was get the statue. Everything else could be figured out later. He could worry about where he fit in Joe’s life and work after the job was done.

“In any case, I’m here to look bored and buy something,” Booker said firmly. “I might bid on the- Ah, never mind, it’s definitely out of my budget.” He stared longingly at the book being placed on the docket. Nicky squinted, trying to read the title emblazoned on the blue and green cover.

“Is that The Hobbit, Booker?” he asked cautiously. Booker sighed.

“Yes,” he said miserably. “A first edition, very rare. The publisher printed so few copies, and with the war paper was heavily rationed. It’s in excellent condition, too. Would be nice to have on my shelf. The boys love The Hobbit.” He looked wistfully at the book and shoved his hands into the pockets of his jacket.

“... I’ll see what I can do,” Qùynh promised, patting Booker’s arm firmly. “No promises, but if I manage to win you’re getting a Christmas present. Act very surprised if it happens.” She dove into the bidding with her customary ferocity, her teeth bared in a bright, frightening smile.

“Is she trying to buy my loyalty or something?” Booker asked Nicky quietly. “Because if she manages this she might just earn it.”

“It’s how she shows she cares,” Nicky said. “Though she usually doesn’t go for something so… expensive.”

“It’s the thought that counts, right?” Nile remarked nervously as the bidding war heated up and Qùynh apologetically shrugged before setting her paddle down one final time.

“I’m feeling cared for,” Booker replied. “Hey, Joe.”

“Hey. Did I miss anything good?” Joe asked as he approached, bumping his shoulder into Nicky’s and wrapping one arm around Booker’s stooped shoulders. Booker nudged him with his elbow and stepped away, but the smile on his face seemed genuine. His anger, it seemed, was only a passing squall.

“Qùynh bid on that book, and Nicky and I are having a crisis because rich people,” Nile replied. “How’s Andy?”

“Fine,” Joe pointed towards the velvet covered box that was being wheeled up as the bidding wrapped up on the first edition Hobbit. “Fingers crossed, eh?”

Nicky was about to ask what Joe meant by that when the lights overhead flickered briefly. Nicky met Joe’s gaze, his brown eyes lit up with pure mischief. The lights flickered again, and as the crowd murmured in confusion and irritation (“Power outage? Brown out? Burnt lightbulb?”) Joe’s smile widened into a bright grin. He tangled his fingers into Nicky’s hand and squeezed tightly.

“Showtime,” he murmured. “Cause some mischief. Don’t let go.”

And then the lights went out.

Nicky fumbled for a brief moment in the darkness as Joe pulled him along, weaving through people as they ran. Someone screamed- Nicky was almost certain it was Nile- and something large and heavy thudded to the ground and broke next to them. Next to Joe, and as they hurried around the hall, brushing past others in the crowd of panicking auction goers, more chaos followed them. Or, to be more accurate, someone was causing chaos. The thunderous sound of glass shattering against the tile filled the room, and the room was filled with more shrieking. Nicky stepped into a puddle of something, liquid splashing up onto his suit trousers and seeping into his shoes.

“I hope the champagne wasn’t too expensive,” Joe murmured as they threaded through the crowd. Nicky squinted into the darkness and, spying a chance to cause a little mischief, as Joe said, he knocked over a bench and then, for good measure, knocked over the small trash can beside it as well.

“Please, ladies and gentlemen! Please, don’t panic!” A man called out from the stage. “Electricity will return momentarily! Please remain calm!”

“This is highly unusual!” A woman yelled haughtily from across the room. It was Qùynh. Nicky turned the laugh that threatened to spill out of him into a sharp cough. Joe squeezed his hand, and Nicky squeezed back.

“I can’t believe you’ve done all this,” Nicky whispered. They weren’t anywhere near the buffet table, but Quỳnh, on the other hand...

“Ah, Nicky, I’m afraid you think too highly of me,” Joe teased. “Lights should be back on soon.”

There was a flicker, and with the return of the light came the revelation of the chaos that occurred in those few minutes of darkness. There was the overturned buffet table, champagne and broken glass scattered across the tile floor. Someone overturned one of the potted palm trees- no, that was Joe’s doing, Nicky realized. The heavy thud was the sound of the heavy planter breaking against the ground. And the auction stage… Nicky craned his neck and stared over the throng of frantic auction guests.

Apollo was gone, his glass case shattered as if he had walked out on his own power. As everything descended into chaos Joe pulled him along towards an exit. Nicky searched for the others, and caught sight of Booker leading them out of an emergency exit. Booker tilted his head jerkily, as if gesturing towards another exit- ah. Nicky pulled Joe away from the crowd and the chaos that he was proudly looking over. They needed to get out before they were noticed, before police were called and people started to ask questions- there! Nicky opened a door and slipped inside, quickly shutting it behind them.

“Wait, Nile and-” Joe exclaimed.

“Booker took the fire exit with them,” Nicky replied. “Are we going back to the hotel?”

“Later tonight,” Joe said distractedly as they jogged down the hall, hand in hand. “I have a few things I need to do first. You did well out there. A lot lighter than a planter.”

“You said to cause a little chaos,” Nicky retorted, a pleased smile creeping onto his face at Joe’s praise. Maybe he fumbled a little. Maybe this heist business didn’t come easily to him. But he had done something, the job went well, and he could learn from this and grow. He had a place here. As he and Joe slipped into another hallway and hurried down a narrow set of stairs Nicky barely suppressed a wild peal of laughter. It was the thrill of the forbidden, the delight in causing mischief, the hope that they might have done something good while having _fun_ -

“An exciting way to spend an evening,” Nicky whispered into Joe’s ear. “You do this often?”

“One of my favorite pastimes,” Joe laughed. “But now comes the hard part.”

“Getting out of here?” Nicky suggested as Joe led them through a doorway and out into a mostly empty side-street.

“Uncovering where the statue came from,” Joe replied. “Figuring out what Merrick’s up to. Then we have to discover why he was selling Apollo in the first place, and stop him from doing any more damage-”

“Which we’ll do,” Nicky promised. “We will find Merrick, and we will stop him. And we will return Apollo to his proper place together.” He squeezed Joe’s hand tightly. They had the statue now, and that was what mattered. Everything else could wait a day.

“Hmmm,” Joe stared out at the street and the many shops and restaurants that lined it, his dark gaze contemplative. Then he turned to Nicky and smiled, shadows and worries temporarily lifted from his eyes.

“I think,” he said clearly, “I will have to buy Andy an apology gift. Want to come along?”

“What sort of apology gift? Are you planning to steal the music box pistols?” Nicky teased. “I’m told the clockwork is… exquisite.”

Joe threw his head back and laughed before pulling Nicky close, one arm wrapped around his shoulders and his body warm and strong against him. Nicky grinned, finding it so easy to wrap his own arm around Joe’s waist and share in that warmth, that rightness of finding someone who fit just right. He gently bumped his forehead against Joe’s, breathing in the warmth of him, basking in the feeling of their intermingling breath and the sense of belonging it brought him.

“Let’s go,” Joe said. “Get out of these suits and find some baklava to placate the boss. She was hiding in the ceiling and crawling through vents all evening.”

“Baklava?” Nicky repeated in disbelief. Joe was going to smooth Andy’s temper with baklava?

“Baklava,” Joe said seriously, pressing his forehead firmly against Nicky before he pulled away. “Trust me.”

-

“You aren’t getting a birthday present until you’re ninety, Joe,” Andy declared as she flopped into an armchair in her hotel suite. “No presents for Eid, either. Do you know how dusty it was up in that ceiling? I don’t think anyone’s cleaned up there since I was born. Decades of dust in my lungs, all for this fucking lump of metal.” But even though she sounded pissed, there was a note of fond reverence in her eyes as she gazed at their prize.

The Apollo statue stood in the middle of the coffee table. It looked as mysterious and lovely on the bare wood surface as it did resting in the blue velvet of its case. Joe stared at the statue, at the inscription engraved into the base, and mused over the Latin script once again. God of Medicine, healing waters born in the dark. What could that mean?

“That’s okay,” Joe replied. “Brought you something to make up for it.” He gestured towards the boxes laying out on the table alongside Apollo. It was an impressive array- Nicky insisted on exploring every shop on the street (“If you mean to apologize, you have to _mean_ it. Ah, get this one with the pomegranate.” ). In the end Joe had four boxes full of baklava in his arms, and when they met up with Booker, Qùynh, Nile, and Andy at the hotel they went up to Andy’s suite and deposited all of their goods before huddling around the coffee table to talk.

“Thanks,” Andy pulled a square of baklava out of one of the cardboard boxes and popped it into her mouth. She chewed slowly, thoughtfully, staring up at the ceiling while eating.

“Walnuts. Honey. A classic,” she said, swallowing the rest of the dessert before licking her fingers clean.

“Nicky convinced me to buy a selection,” Joe explained as Andy dove into another box, the one with the alternating white and pale blue stripes on the container.

“I knew I liked you, Nicky,” Andy replied. “Here, everyone have a bite, I can’t eat this all on my own.”

“Liar,” Qùynh muttered under her breath. “You’d eat it all if we didn’t stop you.”

“True. You should stop me,” Andy retorted. Qùynh glared at her before seizing another square of baklava and jamming it into her mouth.

“So, Apollo,” Qùynh commented as she ate. “I know he’s the pretty boy of the Greek Pantheon, but he’s very, uh… compact”

“It was the standard of beauty at the time,” Booker said tiredly. “Male beauty, I suppose. The limbs are remarkable, Joe, almost life-like. I’m certain it’s Polykleitos’ work himself, not one of his students.” He stared intently at the statue, and Joe could almost see the wheels turning in Booker’s head as he analyzed the piece. In the warm fluorescent glow of the hotel overhead lights, without the fear and adrenaline coursing through his veins, it was a thousand times easier to take the time to authenticate the piece. Not that he was wrong the first time, of course, but Joe liked being thorough. He liked being _certain_.

Nicky reached over his lap and plucked a piece of baklava out of the first box before handing it to Nile, who sat on the floor next to him. He grabbed another and handed it to Joe, their fingers brushing against each other before Nicky picked his own piece and nibbled on it. Andy grabbed a third, the pomegranate and pistachio, and grinned when she tasted it.

“Orange blossom! Very subtle,” she said. “Let me get another look at that inscription, Booker.”

“You are the expert on Hellenistic finds,” Booker allowed. “What do you think?”

“I think I’d love to have the original,” she replied. “I’m almost a hundred percent certain this wasn’t part of the original Grecian work.” Andy traced the pad of her thumb over the inscription and sighed.

“Do we have any idea where this copy even came from?” Nile asked. “Or are we still clueless?”

“Auction house owner was very chatty before Andy did her work,” Joe murmured. “He mentioned the statue was a local find from the Temple of Apollo in Mdina. Melite, if you want to use the ancient name. But no one’s run a dig out of Mdina since… 2002? There was... roadwork or something? It uncovered a wall and they excavated it, but it’s been abandoned. We’d have heard of an Apollo statue being uncovered and put on auction.” Joe tried to think of any rare finds associated with the Mdina dig and drew an utter blank. It was early in his work with Andy, and he was focused on his dissertation and restoration work, but he would have remembered a Polykleitos being found. Andy would have heard. The fact that they hadn’t…

“So either Merrick got his hands on a statue that had been excavated in a past dig,” Nile mumbled through a bite of baklava. “Or someone’s been digging around the site illegally.”

“Do you think the great aunt story is real?” Nicky asked softly.

“No, it’s got to be bullshit,” Joe insisted. “Illegal digs are much more Merrick’s style. Never heard of a law he couldn’t circumvent, so long as he provided the proper incentive.” Not that he ever met Merrick personally, but based on the man’s reputation and the state he left his dig sites- his probably illegal, definitely unethical dig sites- Joe was not impressed.

“Ugh. Pharma bros,” Qùynh muttered, and she reached into a box to munch on another piece of baklava at the same time as Andy. Their hands brushed against each other, and they both ripped their hands away as if an electric current shocked them both.

“I- feel free,” Andy murmured. “All yours.”

“The pomegranate ones are your favorite, you go first,” Qùynh insisted, her voice matching Andy’s. They stared at each other, hands hovering over the box before Qùynh slowly, carefully, took one square of baklava from the box. Andy followed afterwards. And yet they maintained eye contact throughout the process.

“So, if the statue is from Malta, and the inscription was most likely an addition that was added in the recreation process with the Romans…” Nile said slowly, breaking the awkward silence that fell between Andy and Qùynh. “Do you think the healing waters reference a place _on_ Malta?”

“Seems unlikely,” Joe mused. “It’s such a small island, after all.”

“But secrets are uncovered all the time,” Nicky pointed out quietly. “It isn’t impossible.”

“Only unlikely,” Booker said. “No permanent rivers or lakes on Malta. Sometimes they’ll form during the rainy season, but otherwise…”

“Maybe there’s a cave somewhere on this island, or on one of the smaller islands?” Nicky suggested. “Water could sit there. There could even be a thermal spring hidden in one of those caves. A hot spring associated with Apollo could be the healing waters the inscription is talking about.”

“It’s possible,” Joe allowed. “We’d have to find a cave first. Caves.” Nicky’s quiet enthusiasm was encouraging, but he had to be practical. If there was a thermal spring on the island someone would know about it. There would be evidence in the historical record- but then again, the inscription was brand new information and none of them had access to their usual sources of primary documents. Going by pure instinct was the last thing he wanted to do- he wanted the time to dig into primary sources, to consider all possibilities, to talk with others in the field, but they didn’t have time. Merrick was involved, and Merrick could do immeasurable amounts of damage in his search for whatever bullshit he thought he’d find. So they had to consider all possibilities. They had to-

“If I were Stephen Merrick,” Joe said with a grimace, “what would I do first?”

“Raze the temple site with dynamite,” Booker said glumly. “And mark up the prices of life saving medicine. Maybe burn money and laugh. Kick a puppy. But first you would dynamite the temple site.”

“Which hasn’t happened, otherwise we would have heard about it,” Joe pointed out. “So what else? Dig illegally. Hide the dig site. Tear everything apart in order to find what I think is important.”

“Look for water on an island with no permanent rivers or lakes,” Qùynh muttered. Joe nodded.

“Exactly. So if we simply follow the most absurd conclusion we can come up with, we might just be able to retrace Merrick’s steps and uncover his dig site. And maybe we can stop him from destroying a millennia of history in the process,” Joe explained. It wasn’t an ideal plan. They were going to have to go by instinct, and trust that they were heading down the right path. Joe didn’t like leaving so much to chance, especially when it meant putting others- putting people they all cared about, at risk. Putting Nicky at risk.

It would be fine, Joe told himself. He was being paranoid, and he, Booker, and Andy had been doing this for years. Besides, Nicky and Quynh and Nile were intelligent, capable people. They were going to be _fine_. Besides, they were chasing after Merrick, whose only advantages were his ruthlessness and his money. The money, it seemed, had a limit. Otherwise he wouldn’t have needed to sell the Apollo statue. The ruthlessness, however, was far more worrisome.

“We’re getting distracted from the topic at hand. I think we have to head to the temple site at Mdina,” Andy decided. “Tomorrow morning. We’ll see what Merrick’s up to and uncover whatever it is he’s looking for.”

“Guess that’s our hint to get to bed, huh?” Nile said, stretching out before getting to her feet. “I’ve got to call my mom, anyways. She wants to know how I’m spending my week off.”

“Good idea. Thanks for the baklava, Joe,” Booker pulled himself out of his chair and waved a lazy goodbye towards the group.

“I’ll be going as well,” Qùynh murmured. “Catch up on some sleep.”

Nicky rose to his own feet, unsteady, and Joe shot up with him. He saw Andy shake her head and roll her eyes, but she didn’t say anything, which was gracious of her. She raised one eyebrow and smirked.

“You two be good,” she teased lightly. “Don’t go too crazy. We’re in for a hike tomorrow.” 

“Don’t eat all the baklava, Andy,” Nicky replied sweetly. “Or you’ll be sick tomorrow.”

“Joe! You said your man was sweet!” Andy laughed, and Nicky mimed swiping one of the boxes from the table before Andy playfully batted his hand away.

“Nicky’s no mouse, Andy. It’s part of his charm,” Joe retorted. “Good night!”

As they walked down the hall together, shoulders bumping against each other with every stride, Nicky nudged his arm. Joe nudged him back, and Nicky took off down the hall, racing while Joe chased him until they reached the stairwell. Joe crowded up against Nicky, ready to steal a kiss, and Nicky laughed, breathless and lovely, against his mouth.

“Yours or mine?” Nicky asked, and heat simmered under his simple suggestion.

“Andy’s going to kill us if we’re late,” Joe said, but he couldn’t stop kissing Nicky. He didn’t want to. So he kissed Nicky again. And again. And again, until he was no longer kissing Nicky but Nicky was kissing him, and they were barely able to stand.

“A walk,” Nicky gasped as he pulled back for air. “Let’s… go for a walk.”

“A walk?”

“The beaches are lovely at night,” Nicky retorted, defensiveness flashing in his eyes. Joe leaned close and pressed a kiss to the corner of Nicky’s downturned mouth.

“Please, lead the way,” he replied. Nicky took his hand, interlacing their fingers together, and granted Joe a warm, grateful smile. He wondered, momentarily, what he could have done to be granted such a gift, but Nicky’s own words from their past conversations echoed in his ears.

(“I was a wanderer. Mama never understood.”)

“It’s a nice night,” Nicky commented as they walked along the beach, the moon and the streetlights lighting their way. They were hardly the only couple walking along the beach, but it felt as if there was nothing but the great pale expanse of the sands and the sea stretched out before them.

“Oh, look!” Nicky exclaimed, pointing towards a patch of sand cordoned off with stakes, fluorescent orange and white barricade tape. “A sea turtle nest!” Joe drank in the peaceful joy on Nicky’s face as they looked at the nest, which looked like a shallow furrow dug into the sand.

“Isn’t it strange how turtles simply know what they are meant for? They hatch and crawl towards the moon, towards the sea,” Nicky murmured fondly.

“I remember reading that turtles have been crawling towards cities, mistaking the lights inland for the moon,” Joe commented. “But now there are nights when some coastal cities go dark, all so the hatchlings can make their way to the sea.”

“It takes a village to raise a turtle,” Nicky said solemnly, and a smile broke out on Joe’s face.

“Even when they know what they are meant for,” Joe replied, and he drew Nicky’s hand up to his mouth and pressed a kiss to his knuckles. Nicky stared at him, his pale grey-blue-green eyes now washed out into a misty silver color in the moonlight.

“I wasn’t sure what I got myself into today,” Nicky said softly. “I suppose it is the difference between knowing and doing, theory and practice. Figuring out your place in things.”

“Second thoughts?” Joe asked.

“Not quite,” Nicky replied, and he tugged on Joe’s hand, leading them down the beach and towards the water’s edge. “More like… an epiphany, perhaps.”

Joe waited alongside Nicky quietly and watched the waves lap against the shore. It should have been an awkward silence, teetering on the edge of the dreadful unknown, but it wasn’t. He simply waited for Nicky, because Joe would wait forever for Nicky if he had to. Nicky didn’t look anxious either, merely contemplative as he stared out into the dark horizon. Joe could imagine a younger Nicky, gangly limbs and teenage awkwardness, staring pensively at the sea in another land, another time. He briefly wondered if anyone else had ever had the privilege to witness quiet, contemplative Nicky during his midnight wanderings, but decided it didn’t matter. This was for Joe to share in, not to own.

“You did not know you would begin this career, but you took to it. You were certain,” Nicky finally said. “And I… I have rarely been certain of my path. Until now.”

“And now?”

“I do not know if I am of much use to you,” he confessed. “You and Andy and Booker, you have a system that works with each other. But if there is a way I can help, I will. I’m a fast learner.” It was an earnest promise, one that, had it come from any other man’s lips, Joe would have dismissed as naive at best. But it was Nicky, and Nicky, as Joe was rapidly learning, never said anything he didn’t mean with his entire soul.

“It’s not as if I was born a master thief, Nicky,” Joe said gently. “While we live, we learn, or so my father says.”

“A wise man,” Nicky replied.

“He will like you. So will my mother,” Joe sighed and wrapped his arm around Nicky’s waist. “You will soon take my spot as the favorite son. And I worked so hard to maintain it.”

“You have already taken my spot. It is only fair,” Nicky retorted, but he leaned into Joe and slung his own arm around Joe’s shoulders, the touch heavy and warm like a thick wool blanket.

“I think we should go to bed,” he added softly. “Or some approximation of it.”

“Yours or mine?” Joe asked with a laugh, his heart feeling incredibly light despite the serious work that lay ahead of them. “I fear we won’t sleep if we’re together.”

“My room,” Nicky stated. “And we can leave tomorrow’s troubles for tomorrow.”

“You are the wisest of men,” Joe praised, and Nicky laughed before drawing him back into his embrace.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy 2021 to everyone! Thank you all so, so much for reading, for commenting, and for giving kudos and bookmarking. Thank you again for reading!


	8. Chapter 8

The road to Mdina wound through the hills like a snake. Andy drove in silence, Booker riding shotgun with a map pulled up on his phone while Nile, Joe, Qùynh, and Nicky piled into the back of the van. Apollo was safely concealed in Andy’s hotel room in Valletta, locked away and hidden under the hotel bed in a nest made of hotel linens inside Andy’s battered suitcase. They would be back by nightfall, provided they found whatever it was they were looking for at the ruins of the Temple of Apollo.

Nicky stared out the window at the passing scenery- the scrubby trees clinging to the rocky soil, the aqua blue ocean looming in the distance. The rocking motion of the van was almost soothing, but the anxious jumping in his stomach kept him from fully falling asleep on Joe’s shoulder. They were just traveling up to Mdina to the ruins of the Temple of Apollo. They planned to spend the day looking for clues that pointed towards Merrick’s mysterious dig site. Hopefully, if they were lucky, they would uncover more clues that might clarify what the inscription about medicinal waters and gods _meant_. Or, as Joe insisted, they were looking into what Merrick thought it all meant. They were simply trying to stop him from destroying an entire city in his desire to play action hero archeologist. Joe was surprisingly practical when it came to archeological discoveries- no dreams of glory or magic for him. No, it was Nicky, who had always thought he was so grounded and reasonable, who saw riddles upon riddles, enigmas wrapped in mysteries. He wanted to dig deep and uncover everything, and some childish part of him wanted to be proven right. He would, of course, be gracious in victory and wouldn’t smugly tell Joe that he ‘told him so.’

Even though it was very, very tempting.

But perhaps it was all for nothing and they were chasing phantoms. Merrick may very well have done nothing wrong. But that couldn’t be it, could it? Joe, Andy, Booker, they were all certain, and they knew what they were doing. They had the experience to discern what was a good lead and what would go nowhere. Nicky trusted them, trusted Joe’s experience and the fact that he wouldn’t lead Nicky into danger. If, Nicky thought darkly, he could help it.

Besides, Nicky couldn’t deny the lure of adventure, the compulsive need to uncover mysteries, to find something new. It was exciting, really, and even though he was worried that something would go wrong- Merrick and his little militia, the police, a combination of the two- it didn’t matter. Nicky was excited to get out of the car, stretch his legs, and get started with the search for whatever it was the inscription on the Apollo statue was pointing towards.

“Turn right,” Booker said. “There’s a car park outside of the walls. We can leave the van and hike up to the temple.”

“Or what’s left of it,” Andy muttered, and she took the turn.

“This tends to be the long, boring part of the job,” Joe confided as they drove. “The research. Lots of arguing over what translates into what and if we’ve got the approximate date right or not.” His smile was incredibly reassuring- and attractive. Nicky was glad that today would be boring. Yesterday’s heist was enough excitement for the week! Maybe for a year. Yet he couldn’t shake the feeling that something was going to go wrong.

“Working in the field will be a nice change of pace,” Nicky replied, trying to shake off the little thrill of unease building in his gut. “Especially compared to the archive basements and the break room. Less bats.”

“Very different from soggy grey London, right?” Nile commented cheerfully. “Field work is a million times better than being stuck in an office.”

“It’ll be a nice hike, at least,” Qùynh added. “Even if we don’t find anything. Weather’s good.”

“I have a feeling we will,” Nicky murmured. “Look.” He pointed out the window, where they could all see the ancient stone walls of Mdina looming in the distant hills. There was something ominous about the stark stone walls set against the bright blue sky, but Nicky wondered if that was only the anxiety talking. He prayed that everything would turn out well. He feared- anticipated- that they were driving headlong into danger. It was fear of the unknown, he told himself, but Nicky was certain that something was going to go wrong.

They parked near one of the gardens outside the city gates and clambered out of the van. Andy wordlessly handed out backpacks while Qùynh checked that there was enough water and that phones were charged. Nicky smeared sunscreen over his face, his arms, and silently offered the bottle to Joe, who already slipped his ridiculous faded baseball cap backwards on his head. His tight curls poked out from underneath the fabric and through the hole in an adorable poof. He grinned and gently tapped the end of Nicky’s nose with his finger.

“Got a little bit of sunscreen on your nose,” he murmured before curling his hand to cup Nicky’s cheek. Nicky leaned into his touch and basked in the pure joy and wonder in Joe’s expression. He wondered if Joe knew that those feelings were mutual, if Joe could see it in his face as clearly as Nicky could read those feelings in Joe’s.

“Still?” he asked softly.

“No, it’s gone now,” Joe replied, but he didn’t remove his hand. His thumb gently traced his cheekbone, back and forth. The look in his eyes was a reflection of the emotions twisting around in Nicky’s gut- the anxiety, the anticipation, the eagerness to go out and _learn_. Nicky smiled and lay his hand over Joe’s.

“It will turn out well,” he promised. “Don’t worry about me.”

“I think I will always worry for you a little, Nicky,” Joe remarked. “But only because you and I have a remarkable talent for being in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

“Hmmm. We should stop that,” Nicky agreed.

“You two should stop making cow eyes at each other,” Andy ordered. “ _Focus_ , Joe. Apollo. Inscription. Merrick’s dig site. That’s what we came here for, not staring longingly at your boyfriend.”

“I can do both, you know,” he replied easily, but even with that remark Joe smiled sheepishly at Nicky, mouthed a quick ‘sorry,’ and slipped away from him. He took a step or two back before turning to rummage through his backpack, as if he needed to actively work to keep his hands off of him. Nicky smiled and handed his bottle of sunscreen to Qùynh, who took it gratefully and began carefully dabbing sunscreen to her face.

“If we split up we need a place to meet up at,” she said as she patted at her face, blending the sunscreen into her skin. “So where should we go?” Just like Qùynh to take charge and make a backup plan, Nicky thought fondly. Booker lay out a map on the hood of the van and they crowded around it, pointing to different landmarks.

“Triton fountain?” Nile suggested. “It’s close.”

“It gets swamped with tourists and kids playing in the water,” Andy commented. “At least, most fountains do. Not the best place to meet up. We might lose each other in the crowd.”

“How about these gardens?” Nicky asked, pointing to a green spot in the city.

“And get lost in the trees?” Booker retorted. “Same problem.”

“The plaza in front of St. Paul’s Cathedral,” Joe decided firmly. “Can’t miss it. Plenty of places to sit and wait. And reception should be good, so we can call each other if we’re separated.”

“When we’re separated,” Andy corrected. “You know how these things go.”

“We’re planning on splitting up?” Nile asked skeptically as she adjusted her floppy sun hat on her head.

“It tends to happen,” Booker admitted. “Part of the trade. One person is needed in one area, and another’s skills are needed elsewhere, and so…”

“But we’re sticking together for now,” Joe promised quickly, and he reached over to pat Nile on the shoulder. “We adapt as we go along.”

The word ‘we’ was very comforting, as was Joe’s promise to stay together. Nicky adjusted the straps of his pack and double checked his water supply. 

“To the temple, then?” he asked.

“To the temple,” Joe replied.

“And whatever we find there,” Andy muttered, and she set off, leading the way.

The Temple of Apollo was mostly abandoned. A few people milling about the stone ruins, taking pictures and admiring the sparse views. The starkness of the place was hauntingly lovely, and as Andy scanned the area Nicky stared out as well. He didn’t know _what_ he should be looking for- little pits marked off with twine and stakes? But it looked untouched, nothing but crumbling stone and empty space dotted with squat olive trees.The sun beat down on the pale stones and Nicky squinted against the bright sunshine. 

“Much of the marble was taken away to craft other things over the centuries, like the altar in St. Paul’s Cathedral. Some of it was used for sculptures. It’s… there is much that has been lost, simply through the passage of time, but also through the innovation of man,” Joe explained quietly as they wandered through the ruins.

“Do you mourn the loss of what the temple was?” Nicky asked.

“Not quite, though it makes our current task harder,” Joe replied, and he knelt down to squint at one of the blocks of marble that made up the crepidoma. Nicky squatted beside him and looked at the pockmarked stone. There was no sign of a digsite, but perhaps Merrick was more subtle than that. Caution tape and “Do Not Enter” signs would draw the attention of local authorities, and if he was illegally selling what he found...

“It would be easier to know what we were looking for if we had the temple in its original state,” Joe said, interrupting Nicky’s train of thought, “but then we run into another problem.”

“What would we even consider to be the temple’s ‘original state?’” Nicky suggested dryly.

“Exactly,” Joe said eagerly. “Exactly that! Familiar topic in the archives?”

“I’ve been in enough rooms where historians argue over what year Hampton Court should, ah, _live_ in,” Nicky said, rolling his eyes. “Living history is complicated.”

“Isn’t all of history, when we get into it?” Joe joked. Nicky bit back a smile and stared out over the ruins and, beyond it, the amphitheater.

“... Apollo was the God of Music, yes?” he asked softly, staring out at the now empty ruined semi-circle. Music, the arts, medicine… Apollo was the god of many things. If Nile's hunch was correct, and there were more clues that surrounded the statue, perhaps they lay in places other than the temple. Perhaps they were all around Mdina- Melite in Roman times- itself.

“Yes. Yes he was,” Joe breathed out. “Andy!”

“Yeah?” Andy yelled, standing up in front of a ruined column.

“We should look at the amphitheater as well,” Joe called back.

“Got it,” Qùynh shouted. “If I find weird Latin that doesn’t look like graffiti I’ll grab one of you to translate.” She scrambled down the rocky path towards the amphitheater.

“I wonder just how far Nile’s scavenger hunt suggestion will take us,” Nicky mused as he stood up. “Shame that half the temple is buried.” And what remained was lost to time, the elements, and humans scavenging for trophies and good marble. 

“We might be able to locate something if we go through the catacombs, then find our way underground,” Joe suggested. “But we’ll finish our search here first.”

“I’ll go down with Qùynh,” Nicky suggested. “You stay here? You have a better chance of finding something than I would.”

“Take Booker with you,” Joe suggested. “He’s got a good instinct for these sorts of things.”

“What? Cryptic clues?” Nicky teased.

“Yes. And general bullshit,” Joe laughed. “Go ahead, I’ll be up here staring at marble, hoping we find something.”

“A secret dig site? Or a coded inscription?” Nicky asked. He might not know what to look for in a code, but a dig site couldn’t be that easy to hide.

“Anything suspicious, really. Trust your instincts, you’ve got an eye for detail,” Joe replied. Nicky nodded and headed down the path towards the amphitheater. Booker joined him a moment later.

“Keep an eye out for construction signs,” Booker advised as they walked down a set of worn stone steps. “Best way to disguise a dig is to pretend you’re working on a sewage pipe. No one wants to look too deeply when shit is involved.”

“Seriously?” Nicky asked. Booker merely shrugged and took a long swig from his water bottle.

“It happens. Especially if you add some bribery to get the local officials to look the other way,” Booker muttered. “Merrick has deep pockets.”

“Yes. Hard to compete against a pharmaceutical giant,” Nicky replied. 

“Why do you think I’m so happy to screw Merrick over?” Booker asked. “I’m not an idealist like Joe or a passionate lover of antiquity like Andy. I’m petty. Merrick’s an asshole who needs some knocking down.” Booker stomped down the rest of the stairs, muttering some choice curses as he went. Nicky wondered just how sour the work relationship between Booker and Merrick went before he started working with Andy and Joe. Andy and Joe didn’t care for the man and were happy to swoop in and ruin his mysterious plans, but Booker was the one who planned it out. Booker was the one who knew Merrick’s habits, and Booker was the most passionate about fucking Merrick over. For Booker it was deeply personal, far beyond medicine and money. So how terrible was this falling out? Could Booker be… trusted?

Questions for another time, he supposed, and Nicky refused to entertain the thought that Booker would betray them. It- it just seemed unlikely. Booker wandered off to the far end of the theater, away from Nicky and Qùynh, clearly wanting to be left alone. Nicky clambered down the last few steps and made his way towards Qùynh, who stood in the center of the amphitheater with her hands firmly on her hips.

“So, all of this,” Qùynh gestured out towards the amphitheater with one hand, the other firmly balled up on her hip. “We’re going to search through all of this rock?”

“We have time,” Nicky replied. “And most of the graffiti is modern.” But they started combing through the amphitheater, walking around the semi-circle of stones and searching for anything that seemed… off. There really wasn’t much that grabbed his attention, though he did take note of a few Latin phrases carved into the rock- “Prosperous fucked here,” “He who writes this is in love… and I who reads this is a prick,” and there were a few shaky scribblings of what looked like animals.

“Oh, Nicky, look!” Qùynh called out, and when he reached her side she pointed to another picture of a big-headed cat. “It’s Callisto!”

“It does resemble her,” Nicky admitted, and he snapped a picture on his phone. And, almost as an afterthought, he pointed his phone up towards the temple, where he saw Joe and Nile speaking animatedly. He zoomed in slightly and took a picture of Joe laughing at something Nile said. Nicky beamed at the picture before slipping his phone back into his pocket.

“Sap,” Qùynh accused, but the smile on her face was soft. Fond.

“Yes,” he agreed. He was a sap and a fool, and he was desperately in love with Yusuf al-Kaysani. Joe. Being around him felt right, and being with him felt… not destined. Their meeting felt destined, but them being together? It was by choice that Nicky tied himself to Joe, and Joe- he looked up at the temple, and when Joe waved to him he waved back, a smile breaking across his face.

It seemed that Joe tied himself to Nicky as well. At least, Nicky hoped so.

“Be careful, Nicky,” she warned, dropping her voice to a whisper. “He’s… Joe’s a good guy, I know, and he’s been really honest with you, but just… take care? Don’t want you to get hurt.” Not like me, her dark eyes sad, and Nicky quickly wrapped her up in a hug.

“I won’t tell you not to worry,” he promised. “But I will take care.”

“Oh, Nicky,” Qùynh sighed. “You can’t promise me that. I know you too well.”

“I’ll try to be careful. For you,” Nicky hastily amended. Qùynh huffed out a deep sigh, and Nicky knew she rolled her eyes at him. He couldn’t see it, her face buried in his shirt, but he knew.

“You should be careful for _you_ , Nicky,” she scolded, and she stepped back from their embrace. Then she frowned at him. No, Nicky realized, she was frowning _past_ him, looking at something over his shoulder. Nicky turned to look at several pillars lining the edge of the theater.

“... is it just me, or do those pillars look different to you?” Qùynh asked. Nicky squinted, stared at the pillars, then up at the sun beating directly overhead. Almost noon. The shadows were small pools at the feet of the pillars. The pillars! There, engraved in the base of each one, was a sun bisected by an arrow, an arrow that pointed up the steps towards-

“They do look different from the others…” Nicky murmured. “They have different carvings, and they frame the temple. The ruins of the temple, I suppose.”

“Suns might have been gilded once,” Booker added as he jogged up to them. “I was chatting with a local guide over there, Noah-“

“Instead of helping us look?” Qùynh interrupted.

“It’s my sort of research,” Booker said easily. “We need to get up to the others. Merrick was here back in January.” He nodded towards the temple ruins and started to walk the path up again. Nicky strode after him, his long legs easily overtaking Booker’s loping stride.

“What?” Nicky asked. Qùynh took a picture of the sun carvings at the base of one of the pillars before joining them at a quick jog.

“Construction,” Booker explained. “Broken water pipe and repair, but Noah mentioned the heightened security during that time- no tourists allowed.”

“Sounds… suspicious,” Qùynh said. “And illegal, not that we can prove it. Yet.”

“It’s what we needed to know,” Booker replied, voice tight with frustration. “He was here. This is his… how he does things. Apollo came from here.”

“From the temple or from Mdina in general?” Nicky asked, but Booker didn’t answer. He was already waving down Andy.

“Merrick was here in January,” Booker said bluntly when he reached Andy. “And he packed up around March.”

“Ugh, fuck,” Andy muttered. “Joe! Problem.” She yelled. Joe and Nile looked up from the great stone block they were staring at.

“Hmm?” Joe called back.

“Merrick’s skipped town,” Andy shouted. Joe slowly uncurled out of his crouched position next to the stone block and ambled towards them, Nile following behind while frantically searching for something on her phone.

“Ah,” Joe frowned. “That is a problem.” He didn’t sound terribly worried or frustrated, though, and even as Nicky took solace in his calm he also felt the worry that he managed to banish to the back of his head rush to the forefront of his mind. Something, and he didn’t know what, felt wrong about this place.

“Yeah, pretty fucking big,” Andy retorted. “If we can’t prove he’s been running an illegal dig site, _again_ , how can we possibly-“

“He had to have made a mistake,” Nicky interrupted. “Somewhere along the line. Wealth can only do so much. Joe, can you think of anywhere Merrick would run off to after this?”

“If it were another temple of Apollo, maybe… or another site on Malta? There’s a few Megalithic sites…” Joe shook his head. “It would be the wrong time period, though. Stick to the Roman sites for this one. This all ties back to Apollo.”

“But a sacred site is a sacred site, no matter the period,” Nicky argued. “Is it possible that he has a place- a dig- at a non-Roman site?”

“We don’t have the resources to look into it,” Joe said with a sigh, and he took off his sunglasses to clean the lenses with the hem of his t-shirt. “And even if we did, it seems like… well, a bit of a waste. Merrick’s got a hard-on for the classics. Megalithic sites won’t do it for him. Besides, they’re UNESCO sites. Protected.”

When he put it that way, Joe made an excellent point. Nicky wasn’t satisfied with the answer, but it was only the six of them against a well-funded private army. They had to be practical and not spread themselves too thin. He made a note to come back to the topic later and do his own research on his own time.

“In any case,” Joe continued, slipping his sunglasses back on, “Merrick was here. He left months ago, and no one knew about it. How did he manage to keep it a secret?”

“Money and threats are a powerful combination. Merrick will do whatever it takes to get what he wants,” Booker said bitterly. “Whatever he wanted out of Apollo, he got. Or would have gotten, if he was able to sell it.”

“Or did he? Because he had his man overseeing the sale of our Apollo,” Nile pointed out. “And that didn’t go so well, did it? So I think… maybe this sounds crazy, but I think Merrick’s still sniffing around, still interested in… whatever he thinks he’ll find here in Malta.”

“Magical medicinal spa?” Qùynh asked sarcastically.

“The CEO of a pharmaceutical giant would be _very_ interested in finding ‘healing waters,’” Nicky said softly. He could already see the headlines about miracle cures for any ailment, all the pretty words people would spill about the ends justifying the means. He couldn’t- they couldn’t let that happen. Even if these waters were nothing more than myth, Joe and the others believed that _Merrick_ believed they were real, and that he would do untold amounts of damage to meet his goals.

“... could that be a good thing?” Andy asked. “Merrick’s an asshole, but maybe if his researchers can unlock some great medical advancement because of some magical water-“

“They’ll do their research, and when they find what they’re looking for they’ll hike up the prices until it takes a king’s ransom to afford essential medicine,” Booker spat out. “I say we stop him. Even if it’s petty, even if it’s useless in the end. We try and stop him.”

“I agree,” Joe added. “But where do we go from here? This site was cleaned up months ago. We’re hopelessly behind.” He gestured around them, arms spread wide to encompass the entirety of the rocky terrain. Nicky surveyed the vast expanse of crumbling marble and wondered what the temple would have looked when it was new, when it glistened in the sun and there were worshippers at the altar with flowers and animals to sacrifice at the door. Would it have been easier to find these secret clues back then? Were they even secrets? There were so many questions and so few answers, but they would find nothing if they stayed here. Nicky pulled out a map of Mdina from the front pocket of his pack, along with a pencil.

“We retrace Merrick’s steps. Figure out what drew him here, to the temple, and then what could have drawn him away from it,” Nicky stated firmly. “Nile’s right: whatever Merrick’s looking for, he hasn’t found it yet.”

“The pillars down in the amphitheater had a weird sun symbol,” Qùynh said suddenly. “Like this.” She yanked her phone out of her pocket and scrolled to her saved pictures before showing everyone the picture she took earlier of the sun bisected by the arrow.

“Found one up here, too,” Nile added. “Over there, by that laurel tree.”

“And there was another by the temple proper,” Joe said. “Nile and I were discussing them. Not every pillar has this symbol carved into the base.”

“... I did find some odd carvings in the amphitheater, before I learned about Merrick’s hidden dig,” Booker added slowly, thoughtfully. “My Latin is poor, but it seemed to translate into something about turning shadows into light?”

“Ex lumbra in lucem?” Nicky suggested quietly.

“Or ex lumbra ad lucem?” Andy added.

“Maybe you’re supposed to walk in the shadows cast by the pillars- you know, the floor is lava style,” Nile suggested. “One marked pillar I found was at the base of the temple itself.”

“Where?” Andy asked, and as a group they followed Nile over the rocky terrain until they stood at the base of the temple crepidoma.

“By those steps, near those yellow daisies,” Nile explained. “See? It’s faded, but the carving is still there!” And it was. Nicky could see the curve of the sun, the etching that marked the arrow, still there despite the passage of time. Joe knelt down by the pillar and carefully brushed away loose dirt with a bandana. There was something strange about the arrow, something that separated it from the other engravings, but it was so faded he wasn’t quite sure what.

“And there’s something else,” Joe breathed out, and with extreme care he moved some of the rocks and dirt around the pillar until an inscription appeared. Andy and Nicky nearly collided heads as they knelt down to join Joe, while Qùynh snapped pictures on her phone.

“... it’s “Follow Death to seek Life,” Andy decided. “Or ‘Walk through Death to grasp Life,” if you want to be poetic?”

“It’s badly damaged, but I’m certain Andy’s right,” Nicky added. “But what does it even mean?”

“More cryptic clues,” Booker muttered. “Wonderful.”

Nicky was inclined to agree, but considering that they managed to put this together he was certain they could unravel this mystery as well. Follow Death to seek Life, follow Death to seek Life… every clue led to another, every clue filled with contradictions that all led to something greater. All they had to do was piece each clue together, a little puzzle that they could solve if they managed to find another piece to complete the picture.

“I’ve seen this symbol before!” Qùynh exclaimed suddenly. “There’s a wall mosaic in a villa just outside the city! It has this sun on it! It’s there in the advertisements for tours!”

“We’ll need to check it out,” Andy replied. “We need all the clues we can get at this point, considering how far ahead Merrick is in this game.”

“Do you think he figured any of this out, or did he just get lucky?” Nile asked.

“He hid this dig site, sure, but he has to have more lying around here somewhere,” Joe explained. “Merrick would dynamite a whole castle to its foundations if it meant getting what he wanted, so him finding Apollo was most likely a fluke-“

“... catacombs,” Nicky interrupted, his voice soft as the puzzle pieces finally clicked into place. The rest of the group fell silent at his exclamation, and Nicky felt a prickle of embarrassment rise up the back of his neck at all the eyes focused on him.

“I- that is the next clue. What it means. I believe. Follow Death to seek Life. Whatever we’re looking for would be in a graveyard, but the proper place would be-“

“The catacombs,” Joe murmured. “Nicky, you’re brilliant!” His broad smile eased the anxious tempest brewing inside, and Nicky smiled back.

“So. Half of us go to the villa, and half of us to the catacombs,” Booker observed. “Catacombs for me. It seems like a good place to hide a dig site.”

“Villa,” Qùynh immediately volunteered. “I am not going down into the bowels of the earth, thank you. Not today.”

“I’m heading to the villa as well,” Andy said. “You need someone who can read Latin, in case there’s any inscriptions that need translating.”

“Nile?” Joe asked politely, and Nile half hid an embarrassed smile.

“Do you mind terribly if I head to the villa as well? Those mosaics…” She sheepishly asked, and Joe shook his head.

“Of course not! We’ll meet at the plaza at… three?” he suggested warmly, and Nicky wondered how it was that Joe could be so at ease with every change that came their way. He could say it was experience, that Joe was used to the trials and tribulations that came with his work, but Nicky suspected that Joe was excited to go down this new path in their adventure.

“Sounds good. C’mon, it’s a bit of a trek from here to the villa, and we’re going to need as much time as we can get,” Andy ordered. “Tourists everywhere.” She muttered the last part as if it was a curse. Perhaps it was, at least in Andy’s eyes.

-

They split up at the temple- Andy, Nile, and Qùynh leaving for the villa just outside of the city. Tourist trap, maybe, but perhaps it would yield some clues towards Merrick’s plans regarding the statuette and the temple site. Booker, Nicky, and Joe would head down into the catacombs, following the mostly faded inscription carved into the remnants of the altar. Follow Death to seek Life.

“A little morbid,” Joe remarked as they descended into the cool, dry, stale air of the catacombs. “But not the worst thing I’ve seen.”

“Definitely not,” Booker muttered. “Remember Reykjavik?”

Joe felt Nicky shudder beside him. Or perhaps it was his own reflexive shudder that made Nicky shiver involuntarily. Joe reached out and grasped Nicky’s fingers, tangling them together to provide some sort of comfort as they walked into the dark. The afternoon sunshine streamed in through drain holes up above and from the entrance behind them, provided golden shafts of sunlight that they followed as they descended down the old, worn stone steps.

“What happened in Reykjavik?” Nicky asked softly. Joe’s laugh was a little forced, a little strained as he recalled Reykjavik. Was it five years ago? It was summer, he remembered that much, and it was a miserable summer at that. Joe saw Nicky flinch in the half light of the catacombs, and he almost wanted to smack Booker across the back of the head for unsettling them all by bringing up bad memories. But he didn’t. Maybe they should be unsettled, a little wary and apprehensive. They were sneaking into the catacombs to search for Stephen Merrick and his illegal archaeological dig site, and Merrick had armed mercenaries. They should all be cautious. Cautious but not paralyzed with fear, Joe thought, and he tried to ease the worried furrow out of Nicky’s brow.

“It’s fine. Just… we didn’t quite find what we expected,” Joe explained carefully. “It wasn’t-“

“It was gruesome,” Booker interrupted bluntly. “We found someone lost in glacial ice nearly two hundred years ago. The ice preserved them, and… it was unpleasant.”

“Ah,” Nicky murmured. Joe’s mind was filled with the memory of the twisted, broken body trapped in the icy glacier. Unpleasant was too polite and distant a word for that horrific scene.

“It was a lot. I don’t think this will be as… profound… of a discovery. This will probably lead nowhere, so don’t worry,” Joe assured him, but he knew he sounded uneasy. It was just the combination of the dark and the fact that they were walking into the bowels of the earth, into a mass burial site, where hundreds of bodies were stored, where they could - stop it, Joe ordered himself. He wasn’t going to have morbid thoughts! This was a normal investigation by their standards- it was almost a _vacation_ compared to jobs like Reykjavik or Tibet! But this was different, very different, and Joe couldn’t help but worry that he was dragging Nicky into something that he, that they, were wholly unprepared for. But Nicky, blessed Nicky, who had an uncanny knack for _knowing_ what Joe needed, squeezed his hand tightly.

“We will be careful, investigate, and leave,” Nicky said gently. “And we will compare all of our notes with Andy and the others. If we are lucky we will find something that will tell us about Merrick’s plans.”

“Whatever they may be,” Joe agreed. They fell into a companionable silence as they walked, winding downwards, passing alcoves and paintings and mosaics as they went. The air was noticeably cooler and drier, mustier than the air on the surface, but the smell of the sea lingered here as well.

“Down here,” Booker called from up head. “Watch your step. And your head.” He added the last part wryly when Joe nearly collided with a low-hanging limestone ledge.

“Thanks,” Joe muttered, ducking underneath the slender rope that marked off the end of the catacombs that were open to the public

“De rien,” Booker replied. “Want to do the honors?”

“Fine. You take rear?”

“Sure. Nicky, can you- oh, good,” Booker remarked when Nicky turned on the flashlight he somehow dug out of his pack. He pointed it down the ladder that stretched into the dark, illuminating dark metal and pale limestone. Joe gripped the cold rungs of the ladder in his hands as he prepared to lower himself into the depths of the catacombs.

“Once more into the breach,” Joe muttered, and he descended.

His feet touched solid ground sooner than he thought it would, splashing filthy water over his boots. He took a few steps forward and turned on his own light, directing it ahead down a narrow tunnel. As Nicky, then Booker, descended down the ladder Joe squinted at the mosaics that covered the walls- images of skulls and skeletons lined the tunnel. Joe took note of one skeleton that was reclining on a couch, toasting the viewer with a goblet of wine clutched in its bony hand. Joe walked down the path until he reached a fork in the tunnel.

“Where to?” he asked, studying the mosaics that lined the walls, and- oh. Joe’s eyes widened as he took in the flecks of gold inlaid in the tile, the specks of lapis lazuli, green malachite poking out of the grime and dirt that covered the tiles, gleaming like a treasure trove, beautiful in the harsh light of the flashlight. He could almost imagine walking through these catacombs thousands of years ago when it was cleaned and maintained, walking in the flicker of oil lamps and torches, staring at the golden tiles of the mosaic and basking in the glory of the divine. And it was a mosaic of-

“Apollo,” Joe breathed out, staring into the steady gaze of stern faced Apollo holding a golden lyre. Nicky joined him, standing quietly by his side as they stared up at Apollo’s face. Booker stood behind them and let out a low whistle.

“All these riches, just under the city streets,” Booker said, his voice full of awe, fingertips lightly tracing the golden inlay of the sun motif along the border.

“I wonder how this managed to stay hidden for centuries,” Nicky remarked.

“It looks newly excavated,” Joe murmured. “If the right tunnel is Apollo and his lyre, then we have to…”

“Follow Death, I suppose,” Booker muttered, gazing at the other tunnel and the dirty mosaic that lined those walls. Joe could barely make out what lay under the grime and missing tiles, but he caught glimpses of Apollo’s golden hair and the curve of a great bow in his hands.

“Plague of arrows,” he breathed out. “Follow Death.”

“And follow the sounds,” Nicky suggested softly. “Listen.” All three of them fell silent, ears straining to catch whatever Nicky heard. Silence. Silence. The dull roar of a car overhead- there! There was the sharp sound of metal hitting rock. And again! As Joe listened closer the sounds grew more distinct- the sounds of pick-axes on rock, the faint, low hum of a portable generator, and-

The sharp metallic click of a safety being snapped off rang in the tunnel, and Joe had only a moment to think (fuck) before the cold metal of the barrel of a gun touched the nape of his neck.

“Dr. al-Kaysani and... associates,” Keane said dryly. “We’ve been expecting you.”

There wasn’t anything else they could do but be rounded up and frog-marched through the tunnel by Keane and several other armed men. They followed the mosaic of Apollo shooting his plague arrows until they emerged from the tunnel and stepped into a large chamber. The lights set up around the perimeter were nearly blinding, and Joe squinted against the brightness. He tried to turn his head, to search for Nicky, for Booker, but Keane pressed the gun against his back and urged him forward again. All his fault. He dragged them down here, dragged _Nicky_ into this when they were unprepared, so confident that this was a routine search- idiot! He led them all into danger because he got sloppy, so buoyed up by the success of yesterday’s heist that he didn’t stop to think of what could go wrong!

“Of fucking course he hid the dig site here,” Booker muttered from somewhere behind him. Joe couldn’t hear Nicky, and the panic and anger building inside of him transformed into dread. Where was he? Where was Nicky? But he didn’t have to wonder where he was for long as Booker appeared to his left, then Nicky next to him. Booker seemed resentfully resigned to waiting, but Nicky- Nicky struggled to get out of the grip of the man holding onto him, and only stopped when his eyes rested on Joe. Nicky looked at him, those sea-glass eyes wide with fear and anger and, more upsetting, worry. As if Joe was the one in peril. As if Joe needed protecting.

“Dr. al-Kaysani, so kind of you to drop in!” a man exclaimed. Joe watched as a young man with curly black hair walked towards him, flanked by one mercenary with a gun and a woman with her dark blonde hair tightly pulled back in a bun and a grimace on her face.

“Stephen Merrick,” Joe replied. “I’d say it’s a pleasure, but-” he shrugged, Keane’s grip on his shoulder bruising, and glared at Merrick in his squeaky clean red Converse and crisp white shirt under the navy blue zip-up hoodie. He’d like to strangle him with the laces of that hoodie.

“Enough exchanging pleasantries,” Merrick announced, clapping his hands together as if they had all been invited to some sort of formal dinner. “You and your friends pulled quite the stunt yesterday! I’m glad that Mr. le Livre is predictable, if nothing else. How you managed to pull Apollo out of his case so quickly is fascinating, Sebastian, but that can wait for another day, can’t it?”

“Fuck off, Merrick,” Booker growled. “If you have business with me then-” 

“No, Mr. le Livre, your services are not required here. Dr. al-Kaysani, however…” Merrick turned his eyes on Joe, greed lighting up his face as he smiled. It wasn’t a friendly smile. Joe scowled, even as the barrel of Keane’s gun dug into his back, into his vertebrae.

“I have no interest in lending my expertise to your little... excavation,” he said clearly.

“Such a shame,” Merrick replied. “Perhaps you require the proper incentive? Meta?”

The blonde woman stepped forward at this point and cleared her throat, as if preparing to recite a grand speech. Her words were clipped and forceful, as if she hated the very thought of wasting even a millisecond of time to let the words breathe, or to let herself take a breath. Joe glared at her, at Merrick, wishing he could kick out at Keane and get Nicky and Booker and _run_ , but he couldn’t. He could only stand here, waiting, feeling useless and helpless as they were _monologued_ to!

“Dr. al-Kaysani. I am Dr. Meta Kozak,” the woman said crisply. “Mr. Merrick and I believe that there was a secret temple of Apollo located somewhere on Malta that was dedicated to healing, and it had some sort of hot spring or other miracle water at the heart of the complex. Think of the discoveries we can make if we find it and unlock its secrets!” There was an eager, hungry note to her voice, and the look in her eyes reminded Joe of a predator circling prey.

“So you’re all mad. Wonderful,” Joe muttered. Magical healing hot springs. Yes, that was what they all assumed Merrick was looking for, but Joe had been holding out hope that Merrick was just delighting in the thrill of playing treasure hunter. He didn’t expect… fairy tales!

“The spring exists, Dr. al-Kaysani, and you’re going to lead us to it. You came this far, surely you can uncover the last part,” Merrick cajoled him, leading him towards a mosaic on the far wall. Nicky and Booker were brought along, Booker muttering curses in several languages while Nicky remained silent, jaw tense, eyes murderous. 

“Don’t try to escape,” Keane added, his very voice carrying a threat. “Your life isn’t the only one on the line. Doctor.”

“I’m well aware, thanks,” Joe replied, all too aware that Nicky was taking long strides, keeping his body between Merrick, the mercenary walking beside him, and Booker and Joe. Oh Nicky, Joe realized, fear and love warring in his heart as Nicky kept himself between the perceived threat and the two of them. Loving, thoughtful, protective Nicky, who hadn’t the first idea of what to do in a hostage situation while facing a thieving, greedy, selfish man like Stephen Merrick. And this was all his fault, Joe thought, and he wished he could kick himself even as he stared up at the mosaic of stern-faced Apollo and his cerulean eyes.

“Well?” Merrick asked impatiently. Joe ignored him and stared at the mosaic. There was an alcove at the center of the mosaic, surrounded by mosaics of dancing nymphs and naiads, an alcove where Apollo would fit perfectly. Though damaged, the mosaic was a sea of blues, from the rich lapis lazuli of the deep sea to the seafoam green that matched Nicky’s eyes when he wanted to laugh but was hiding it. He looked at the waters, at the fish, at the leaping dolphins, at the damaged pieces of mosaic that had fallen away over millennia- and yet, like the mosaics in the tunnels, they were beautiful. He wished they had remained a mystery, if only so his friends, his loves, could be safe and away from here.

At least the others were at the villa, he thought. At least his recklessness didn’t put them all in danger.

“Clear as mud,” Joe finally announced, borrowing one of Nile’s common phrases. A good phrase, that one. To the point. As he looked over the mosaic Joe tried to rapidly piece together what he could- Apollo’s placement, the cryptic clue about healing waters on the statue, the naiads and nymphs encircling the alcove- what was he missing?

“You’ve completely removed the context surrounding this mosaic. I mean, Apollo’s gone. Anything else we could have seen has been dug up and removed, scratched and damaged beyond analysis,” Joe added as Merrick’s expression turned from smug to shocked to wrathful in an instant. “I’m surprised you found anything at all, sloppy dig like this. So no, I have no idea where there would be a magical hot spring hidden away in Malta. Besides, there’s no naturally occuring standing bodies of water on the island. No rivers, no lakes, nothing that isn’t formed from rainwater. You’re wasting everyone’s time, Merrick. Maybe if I had everything intact and a few weeks, I could come up with a theory-”

“As your friend Mr. le Livre can attest, I’m not a patient man,” Merrick said, anger twisting his face into a furious snarl. “And if you don’t start coming up with some theories, Dr. al-Kaysani, _someone_ is going to have to pay for your-”

“I know where it is!” Nicky shouted. His voice echoed through the suddenly silent catacombs, bouncing off the vaulted stone ceiling of the room.

“Nicky, don’t tell him _shit_ -” Booker exclaimed, then grunted in pain when he was kicked in the gut by an enraged Merrick. He slumped to the cold ground, curling up into a ball. Joe struggled against Keane, who was still holding onto his shoulder, but it was a fruitless effort. He had to get to Booker, had to get to Nicky, had to protect them-

“The healing river that is born in darkness. I know where it is,” Nicky insisted, voice clear and steady.

“Well, Dr. al-Kaysani, looks like your little friend figured it out before you did,” Merrick sneered before glowering down imperiously at Nicky. Nicky looked up at the man calmly, his face a blank mask, his eyes a raging sea. Joe couldn’t even begin to figure out what Nicky was playing at with Merrick.

“If I tell you, you have to let them go,” Nicky said quietly.

“I don’t think you’re in any position to negotiate,” Dr. Kozak remarked. Nicky ignored her, staring straight at Merrick, who scoffed and crossed his arms over his chest.

“If I find what I’m looking for, I’ll consider it,” he said instead. “You might be trying to pull a trick on me, send us on a wild goose chase-”

“I’m not. I know exactly where it is,” Nicky said confidently. Was he lying? Trying to buy them time for Andy to realize that something was wrong and to start looking for them? Was he trying to- fuck, was Nicky _protecting_ them by weaving some pretty story for Merrick to believe in? Nicky threw himself between Joe and a man with a gun, and Nicky, honest-to-a-fault Nicky who could barely manage to keep secrets for a week without feeling guilty, was telling enormous lies to protect them all!

Nicolo di Genova was a marvel of a man. A beautiful, frustrating, stubbornly over-protective marvel of a man.

“Well? Where is it?!” Merrick demanded, face screwed up with pent up irritation as the silence grew longer.

“Filfla. It’s on Filfla,” Nicky said calmly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! We're in the final stretch. I'll try to remain on schedule, but the next chapter might be a little late due to edits- but hopefully it will go up next Sunday or Monday. Thank you for being patient and sticking with this story!


	9. Chapter 9

Today hadn’t gone the way Joe expected it to.

Of course, Joe should have been ready for things to go badly. He really should have prepared for it- he’d been in this game long enough to know better. Always expect the worst, even when things are going well. Especially when things are going well. But pessimism was more of a Booker thing. Or Andy. They would call it pragmatism, and that it was a good thing to have. Joe would joke and reply that optimism hadn’t failed them before. Until now.

Fuck, Andy was never going to let them live this down. If they managed to survive this. That realization cut through the self-flagellation like a blade. Joe couldn’t waste time berating himself! He had to escape and take Booker and Nicky with him! Joe frantically thought of ways to make his escape- but nothing came to mind. They were outnumbered, surrounded, and out-gunned, and Merrick wasn’t a forgiving man. Even if they survived being shot at by mercenaries Joe could easily see Merrick hurting one of them to get the others to cooperate, and that- Joe couldn’t risk it. Booker might be able to handle a few kicks and rough treatment, but Joe didn’t want to put his friend, his brother, through that pain. And Nicky? Joe couldn’t risk getting Nicky hurt. Killed. So he waited as Merrick and his crew sprung into action. Damn the man for being rich, because his dastardly work got _done_ with the sort of efficiency Joe could only dream of. They were handcuffed with plastic zip ties, hands tied tightly behind their backs, and they were carefully guarded as people packed up equipment, Merrick barking orders and Keane quietly giving contradicting ones to make the process go smoothly and the way Merrick intended.

After Nicky told Merrick where they were supposed to go (Filifa, Joe thought with no small amount of exasperated wonder. What the fuck was on Filifa other than a small population of endangered sea birds?! Nicky, what the actual fuck?!), Merrick had his men lead them out of the catacombs via a set of hastily erected metal stairs. Their footsteps rang through the ancient stone walls like cathedral bells, and Joe winced at every step- mostly because Keane’s gun was firmly pressed to his back, but partially because every echo rang like a condemnation. Clang. You fucked up. Clang. You fucked up. Clang. You really, really fucked up. It wasn’t until they were loaded up in the back of a van and were locked in and alone that Booker spoke. He looked worse than Joe could ever remember. He saw Booker at some low points in his life, but this? He’d curled himself up into a ball, his long legs tightly pressed to his chest, and stared morosely at the steel walls of the cab of the van.

“Sorry,” he muttered. “My fault.” He refused to elaborate, but Joe knew what he meant well enough. It was tempting to take the blame on himself, to say that Booker did nothing, but Joe couldn’t deny that they’d both fucked up in their own ways.

“Book, you were being a selfish piece of shit trying to get petty revenge on a terrible man,” he sighed, “and I was being a selfish piece of shit because I wanted to thumb my nose at a spoiled colonizer and didn’t think before I ran in. And Nicky- okay, Nicky didn’t do anything wrong.”

“We can come back to me later,” Nicky said politely. “After Qùynh and the others save us.”

“Excuse me?” Booker croaked, his voice almost drowned out as the engine rumbled to life and the van lurched down the road. Joe braced his legs against the floor and tried to make himself comfortable. At least it was going to be a relatively short ride, with just enough time for Nicky to _explain himself_!

“... I called Qùynh right before we were caught,” Nicky said softly. “She knows… should know where we are soon enough. I yelled loud enough for her to hear me.” He twisted around like a snake unwinding from its snug den after hibernation, squirming around until he managed to lift the flap of one of his many pockets in his hideous cargo pants. Nicky carefully plucked the phone out of his pocket, arms straining from exertion as he twisted around to show his phone to Joe. And there, on the screen, he saw the list of incoming calls- Qùynh, Qùynh, Andy, Nile, Qùynh again… and the one outgoing call at the bottom to Qùynh.

Joe was never going to tease Nicky for his fashion sense again.

“At least, I hope she heard me,” Nicky confessed. “Though Filifa is as good a guess as any- there’s supposed to be a cave that collapsed during an earthquake, but there was a church on the island once. And the remnants of a Paleolithic settlement, or so the guidebooks claimed. If any place were to have an underground water source that no one knows about… well. And it’s far enough away that we’ve bought Qùynh and the others time to catch up.” 

Nicky was rambling, as if he could fill in the awkward silence in the cab with his words. Joe wanted to kiss him breathless. Clever Nicolò, always prepared.

“We need to cooperate- pretend to cooperate,” Nicky added with a frown. “We might have to go caving, and I doubt Merrick will have the proper safety gear. How long do you think we can stall for time?”

“Long enough for Andy and the others to sail in,” Joe promised. “Nicky, hayati, we _will_ get out of this.”

“Of course,” Nicky replied, a smile on his face as if his trust in him was forged from something more permanent than steel.

“Andy and the others, they’ll call the proper authorities. Andy has the number for my own Interpol contact. Merrick can’t wriggle out of this, not this time,” Booker breathed out, and he glanced up at Joe, cautious hope blooming in his tired blue eyes. As Nicky struggled to sit back up, slipping his phone back into his pocket as he wriggled, Booker leaned over, chin butting against Joe’s cheek as the van turned sharply.

“We’re keeping him,” Booker confided. “Don’t fuck it up, okay?”

“Yeah, we’ll see how that goes once we get out of this mess,” Joe muttered. They’d get out, he told himself. Andy knew where they were, and between her, Nile, and Qùynh they’d come up with something. Help was coming. He just had to be patient and keep the three of them alive until then. Which Nicky had done admirably so far, all while Joe and Booker decided to mouth off and take on a man who had more money than common sense.

But once they got out, what then? Nicky wasn’t going to stick around. Who would, after being kidnapped and held hostage? Nicky was a sensible man, the type of person who laid out all the pieces of a puzzle before putting it together, who took his time- and this was too much to ask of anyone. Because if it happened once, it could happen again. Nicky would take stock, measure every event, calculate his odds, and then… leave. And where would Joe be after that? Having known just how exhilarating it could be to have a partner, a real partner, who was eager to know every part of his life, who jumped into the fray and wanted to be part of things, Joe knew he couldn’t settle for anything less than- well, he wouldn’t be able to settle for anyone but Nicolò di Genova, and Nicky?

Just get through this alive, Joe thought grimly. He would mourn the loss of Nicky later, when he was alone and he could drown in the grief of having known love and lost it. But for now he would survive. He was good at that.

“At least we’re all together,” Booker remarked. “Better than being separated?”

“Not helpful, Sebastian,” Joe muttered. Nicky sighed and finally rolled back into a sitting position.

“We need to get our stories straight. Put our heads together and _think_ as we stall for time,” he said, easily taking charge, his voice as steady as bedrock. Wasn’t that just like Nicky, to be full of surprises? Joe leaned closer, touched his forehead against Nicky’s, basked in the calm that the gesture brought him. It was greedy of him to want this, to seek touch out when they were being kidnapped, when his future with Nicky wasn’t guaranteed, but Joe touched anyways and found what comfort and reassurance he could. He could do this. They could do this- all they had to do was buy Andy time- she wouldn’t need much. This _was_ Andy they were talking about.

“Filfla. What do we know about Filfla?” Joe murmured.

“Bird sanctuary,” Booker piped up. “At least, that’s what it is currently, according to Jean. No one’s supposed to go on the island without express permission.”

“Oh? That’s good, then. Someone- authorities- will notice when Merrick lands,” Nicky remarked. “I only thought it was a possible location because… well. There was a cave there once. There was a chapel inside, but it all collapsed in an earthquake in the 19th century. Sacred site, cave, ties to times before the Roman era because there is evidence that Neolithic people inhabited the place-“ Nicky shrugged then and opened his eyes to look at Joe, and Joe was lost in the sea of glass blue-green and the determination in those eyes.

“I know you don’t believe in this sort of thing,” Nicky said softly. “But I have a feeling that Filfla is the right place to go. It may be the place the statue was pointing to all along. And there may have been more clues in those catacombs that time… that time and Merrick damaged.”

“And we’re leading him straight to it?” Booker groaned. “Nicky, I can’t believe you told Merrick the truth!”

“I couldn’t come up with a better lie he’d believe, not when he was kicking you,” Nicky muttered. “He’d hardly believe that this secret healing water was in the Blue Grotto! You have to help me come up with ways to stall him. So far I all I have are good reasons to not explore the island, but having seen how… determined Merrick is, they won’t dissuade him for long.”

“We’ll come up with something,” Joe promised. “You were brilliant, Nicky. Absolutely brilliant.”

“Thank me when we’re safe,” Nicky replied. “The day isn’t over yet.”

The cab fell silent as the van stopped. Nicky quickly pulled away from Joe and they waited for someone to open the back door and force them out. Out and onward to the next place, where they would sit and wait until they were on Filfla. And if Nicky’s theory held true, if there really was some fabled mystical hot spring on Filfla, hidden under rubble and rock, and it wasn’t all just a load of fairy tale nonsense- well. Joe sighed as the door opened up and afternoon sunlight flooded the cab.

Andy couldn’t come and rescue them soon enough.

Even half blinded by the sun in his eyes Joe tried to discern where they were. There was the cry of the gulls, the smell of the sea, the sound of water lapping against wood- they were near the ocean, on a pier. Merrick was yelling at someone, but as he couldn’t hear the other half of the conversation he assumed it was over the phone. As someone’s strong hand gripped his bicep and yanked him out of the van, frog-marching him over rocky terrain and onto the wooden pier, Joe listened to Merrick ranting, screaming, at whoever was on the other end.

“-don’t care what the paperwork says! Fuck the paperwork!” Merrick shouted. “We’ll sort it out later, I’m not losing this lead!”

A pause.

“That’s what you’re getting _paid_ for! Figure. It. Out!” Merrick spat out. Joe squinted and took in the rocky beach and the choppy waters. Out there on the horizon lay Filfla- and whatever it was they’d find out there. Please be nothing but rubble, Joe hoped. Prayed. Rubble and ruin, so that Merrick didn’t destroy anything else during his fruitless quest for the secret to eternal life or whatever it was he was searching for. 

“Escort our... guests below deck,” Keane ordered several of his men as they all boarded the shining silver and white yacht- ostentatious, Joe thought as they climbed aboard. Absolutely absurd! Who brought their luxury boat on a treasure hunting expedition? Stephen Merrick, obviously. Why did he even question it?

“Keep Dr. al-Kaysani above. We have some things to discuss,” Dr. Kozak said, her face a mask of rigid politeness. Joe’s eyes darted over to Nicky, who was being roughly shoved down below deck, into- he didn’t know where. Fuck, fuck, fuck! He had to think of something, they had to stick together-

“Whatever you have to say you can say in front of my associates,” Joe replied, and he hoped that would be enough to keep them together, at least on the yacht. But Dr. Kozak only rolled her eyes and frowned.

“We aren’t _monsters_ , Dr. al-Kaysani. If you cooperate you and your associates will remain unharmed,” she said, her voice crisp and sharp. She sounded vaguely insulted, as if Joe kicked a puppy in her presence. Or maybe insulted her pipetting. Probably the second one. Dr. Meta Kozak didn’t seem like she would be particularly concerned about anything that wasn’t directly related to her research.

“And if we don’t?” Joe asked. “Cooperate with Mr. Merrick’s scheme, I mean.”

“I’m not in the business of making threats, Dr. al-Kaysani. I’m a _scientist_ ,” Dr. Kozak replied. “But while I don’t make threats, my own associates have no qualms about issuing demands. Especially after you and your… associates… made quite a bit of trouble for them in the past.”

“Threats by proxy are still threats, I’m sure you’d agree,” Joe said. Dr. Kozak only shrugged and looked out to sea, to the horizon and Filfla, a dark speck in the distance like the peppercorn it was named after.

“Where is your academic curiosity, Dr. al-Kaysani?” she asked, voice soft, sounding almost disappointed. “I would have thought you would enjoy the thrill of discovery.”

“Not when it means we’ll be blowing up an entire island pursuing rumors and fairy tales,” Joe retorted. “I would have thought a scientist would be less inclined to chase phantoms.”

“... I once thought that as well. But have you ever seen something… remarkable? Beyond explanation? Something that you will chase after until you find those answers?” Dr. Kozak asked. When Joe did not reply Kozak sighed and shrugged, her gaze focused on Filfla as if she could dissect the island with her gaze alone.

“You may think it’s a fairytale, Dr. al-Kaysani, but I know what I saw,” she murmured. “I’ll let you go now. Please, do think about where Apollo’s spring could be located on the island. Mr. Merrick is not a patient man. I believe what little patience he had was used up waiting for you and your team to take his bait and track down where he retrieved that statue from. Though you certainly angered him, stealing it as you did.”

As Joe was escorted away he passed by Merrick, who was still clearly fuming after his conversation with whoever he was on the phone with.

“Nice boat,” he called before he was shoved below deck, and he took a small amount of delight from the bemused, annoyed expression that crossed the man’s face. Small victories. He’d take it. Joe breathed out a sigh of utter relief when Keane shoved him into a small room where Booker and Nicky were waiting. Keane gave the room a quick once-over, a grim frown on his face, and gave them a curt order to not try and escape as they sailed on to the islet.

“I don’t know how good you are at swimming, doctor, but I wouldn’t risk it,” he added before shutting the door. A lock clicked into place, and they were all alone. Booker smiled at him from where he was sprawled out on an overstuffed sofa, and Nicky hurried over to him, looking him over, hovering close as if he longed to touch and hold him- at least, that was what Joe hoped Nicky felt. Then the feeling would be mutual.

“I’m fine,” Joe assured him. “The good doctor wanted to talk about ethics.”

“She should have asked for Nicky, then,” Booker remarked. “He’s been prodding at my guilty conscience the moment we were left alone here.”

“There’s no TV to distract us, and we have plenty of things to discuss,” Nicky said, ignoring Booker. “I don’t know where the cave was on the island, and all I can remember right now is that Filfla was used as target practice.”

“We can stall for time. And if not we take our time finding the cave,” Joe said softly, and he wished he could hold Nicky and be held in return. “We’ll get out of this. I swear.”

“I know,” Nicky replied, voice calm and gaze steady and confident. “Joe, I know.”

“Apollo was bait, Nicky,” Joe said. “Merrick used the statue, lured us all in with it because he knew we would chase him down to stop him.” 

“Fucking asshole,” Booker muttered.

“He knew you would try to do what is noble, what is right, and weaponized it,” Nicky replied. “But we will stop him, Joe. All of us. We just have to have a plan.”

Joe wished he could believe him.

-

One hour. It had been one hour since they made their way out of the catacombs and were shoved into the back of a van by Stephen Merrick’s men and driven off to the coast to sail to Filfla. And now they were here, walking off the yacht and clambering up the rocky shoreline of the tiny islet.

God, Nicky hoped, prayed. Let an hour be enough. If nothing else, let an hour be enough time for Qùynh and the others to arrive with help. Because otherwise they would have to go over this island inch by inch, looking for something that may no longer exist. If it existed at all in the first place. Nicky breathed in slowly, and everything tasted like salt. His senses were almost overwhelmed by the salt air and the setting sun burning his skin as he was roughly escorted up Filfla’s rocky shores. He heard Booker grumbling and cursing behind him, and Joe’s muffled grunt made his heart drop. They were hurting Joe, had hurt him, hurt both him and Booker and Nicky couldn’t stop it-

Calm. He had to remain calm. He needed to keep his focus, keep the three of them focused, and stick to their hastily formed plan. Stall for time. Wait for Andy. Wait for Qùynh. Wait for Nile. Hope they found some backup. Keep each other alive. Until then Nicky had to stay calm because Booker and Joe were mired in guilt over being caught- guilt and anger, really, and Nicky had to help them push those feelings back. At least for now.

It was hard to be calm when everything tasted of salt and copper in his mouth. It was hard to be calm when someone was hurting his friends- his Joe. It was hard to be calm, hard to keep that dark coil of rage inside of him contained. But Nicky did. He bit the inside of his cheek and told himself to wait. He couldn’t fall apart now.

“Well, Dr. al-Kaysani. You and your companions surely had enough time to consider where the healing spring of Apollo is?” Merrick asked, the eager greed in his eyes dripping into his voice. 

“Underground, in a cave system,” Joe said. “There was one partially submerged after an earthquake in the 1800s-“

“1856,” Booker added helpfully. “There was a chapel inside.”

“In any case, it’s likely to be down there. Dangerous, though. The island was used as a bombing target by the RAF for decades. It’s why no one’s allowed on it,” Nicky said, glad that he wasted at least one afternoon on the beach reading the pamphlets the hotel management kept in the lobby. If only he had spent more time scanning that vague map of the islet rather than reading all those facts! It didn’t seem to matter what they told Merrick- all he wanted was information on the statue.

“And underwater cave diving is hardly safe to begin with,” Joe remarked. “You’re sure you want to keep going today?” There was no note of hope in Joe’s voice, only a dark sort of sarcasm that Nicky felt deep in his soul. 

“And give up when I have the secrets to immortality right in my grasp?” Merrick laughed and jerked his head sharply, up towards the rocky cliff side.

“Lead the way, Doctor. We haven’t got all day.”

So they began their walk along the beach. If it weren’t for their hands being tied and the armed escort, Nicky could almost pretend they were on a private retreat. Blue waters, golden sunshine, the cry of the sea birds- it was an idyllic spot for contemplation. For example, Nicky was contemplating how much force he would have to use to tackle the man holding onto Joe’s bicep and forcing him up the rocky trail. He also spent some time contemplating the various gruesome outcomes of the previous contemplation before deciding that it would be better for all of them if those outcomes only remained a fantasy.

“So, any maps of the area? You’ve cut me off from my usual resources, so I’m flying blind here,” Joe casually remarked as they walked along the rocky shoreline. Nicky couldn’t see Merrick’s face, but he saw his back stiffen, saw his hands ball up into fists, and he wished that Joe hadn’t said anything, because Merrick had shown himself to be short-tempered when the world didn’t bend to his whims. But before Merrick could speak Keane spoke up instead.

“We have the latest geological survey of the island, sir. We have several potential sites already circled,” he said. “If the doctor cooperates we’ll be out after sundown.” Nicky had a strong feeling that the “if” really meant “when,” and he didn’t much care for the dread that rose up in his throat at the thought of Merrick directing his men to convince Joe to work for them.

“Always efficient, Keane. Love to hear that,” Merrick replied, stopping in the middle of the path. He scrolled through something on his phone before shoving the screen into Joe’s face, and Nicky wanted to slap that stupid phone out of the man’s hands just to annoy him. Perhaps that made him sound like an irritable housecat. Nicky’s thoughts turned to Callisto and his tiny apartment, to the plans he was slowly forming for his future, and his resolve only hardened. He would survive this, because he had a future to live for, one with his cat and his friends and Joe, and a spoiled brat and his private security force weren’t going to take that future from him!

“So. Which cave do we search first?” Merrick asked. Demanded. Joe looked at the phone, then glanced over at Nicky.

“Nicky’s our archivist on this project. Let him come and have a look,” Joe said, and when Nicky was escorted to his side Joe brushed his arm against him, offering what little comfort he could. Nicky took it gladly, pressing his own arm against Joe as they both stared at Merrick’s shiny phone screen and squinted against the glare of the sun against the glass. There were three areas circled on the map, and Nicky’s eyes drifted to the northernmost circle immediately. He remembered seeing an illustration of the church, as well as looking at an old map of the island pre-earthquake. He may have been distracted by Joe and his smile, his wry commentary and jokes, but Nicky remembered the shape of the island, the delicate scratches of ink in parchment, and he marveled at the swirling script.

“Booker, do you have any opinions?” Nicky asked, if only to waste a few more seconds. Booker shook his head, but shuffled over (with some added encouragement from the man who was sticking with him).

“I’m not the map guy, but if you really want me to have a look, I’ll look,” Booker offered. He stared at the screen, shrugged, and stepped back.

“Don’t know if it’s the right cave or not. The chapel inside it was old, I know that much,” he finally said, “and I know that it was decommissioned-“

“Deconsecrated-“ Nicky interrupted.

“Yes, that, it was abandoned ages before the earthquake. Any location is possible. I mean, did anyone even use the place beyond the odd fisherman asking for good fortune from Mary?” Booker asked.

“There’s some debate over the provenance of some art that may or may not have been at the Filfla chapel- but who keeps a Renaissance master’s work in a rarely used chapel? But, of course, who continues to build chapels and temples on an island that is so rarely used?” Joe added, and Nicky loved that, even in the midst of being kidnapped and held hostage Joe still asked questions, still prodded at people and urged them to think.

“This is all very interesting, I’m sure,” Merrick interrupted. “But it doesn’t answer my question- where is the spring?”

“I can direct my team to search the other locations, sir,” Keane suggested. “While the doctor and his esteemed colleagues help us search the most likely candidate.” Keane emphasized his point by glowering at the three of them and keeping his hand firmly on the gun strapped to his side.

“Fine, fine, we’ll do that. Dr. Kozak!” Merrick shouted down the path to the woman, who was scrambling up the rocks with a large bag strapped to her back. “You have your equipment?”

“I can take water samples, yes,” Dr. Kozak replied. “If you have found the spring?”

Then all eyes were on Nicky, from Merrick’s greedy leer to Keane’s icy glare to Joe’s calm, steady gaze. Nicky breathed in, out, and made a decision.

“The northern location is the most likely,” Nicky reluctantly said. He hoped that the long hike across the island would buy Qùynh, Andy, and Nile enough time to reach thm and form a rescue plan. As they were hiking up the hilly shore, towards the north, Joe nudged his side with his elbow and offered him a shaky smile. Nicky returned it while fervently hoping he would never see that expression of fading hope in Joe’s eyes again. Not while he was around to prevent it.

“We’re going to be okay,” Nicky lied, because this wasn’t okay. This was the exact opposite of okay. He knew it, Booker obviously knew it, and Joe knew it too. But the lie was a small comfort they shared, and Joe smiled again.

“Yes, habibi, of course we’ll be,” Joe lied back, fondness seeping through to tinge the sarcasm with a little bit of humor.

“Ugh,” one of Merrick's men, the one escorting Booker, muttered. “Is he your boyfriend or something?” There was a trickle of laughter that followed the remark, nervous, full of swagger and puffed up bravado.

“If you’re trying to insult me you’ve failed,” Joe retorted, his dark eyes fixed on Nicky. For a brief moment it was as if the rest of the world melted away. There was no more Merrick, no more armed guards, no more mad doctors or miracle cures or even mysterious statues and cults to ancient gods. Nothing remained. It was only Nicky, Joe, and the sea. 

“Boyfriend is so… juvenile,” Joe added softly, expression so fond that Nicky’s heart broke a thousand times from the softness of it. “That man is not just my boyfriend. He’s all and more.”

“Incurable romantic,” Nicky replied, because saying anything else would break him completely. All and more, he thought, and he hoped Joe knew the same sentiment beat in his own chest. Joe was hustled off to the front of the group and they trudged on in silence, only interrupted by the crackle of the radio and the crunch of rock underneath their feet.

“Sir, there was an incident near another site,” Keane announced. “Something about ammunition shells. They need a few more men to clear the area.”

“Huh. Could’ve sworn we mentioned that little problem earlier,” Joe remarked. Booker snorted from somewhere behind Nicky, and Nicky ducked his head down to hide the smirk that crossed his face.

“Fine. It’s not like they’re going anywhere,” Merrick decided, and after some arranging Nicky and Booker were stuck side by side as two men left to walk to the other site on the island. Now there were eight of them left- Merrick, Keane, Dr. Kozak, two other mercenaries, and the three of them. Better numbers if they tried to fight back, but not good enough. Joe was taken to the front of the group with Merrick, Kozak, and one guard. Nicky and Booker walked side by side while the other guard and Keane took the rear.

“How are you feeling?” Nicky whispered as they resumed their forced march to the cave, a pantomime of the strangest parade in the world. They slowly navigated a narrow switchback path down to the water, and Nicky strained his eyes and ears to listen for and catch glimpses of Joe at the head of the group. Every once in a while he spotted Joe’s plain baseball cap, or heard a snatch of his conversation on the wind (“What, did you think searching for something that doesn’t exist would be _easy_?”), but it didn’t ease the worry coursing through his veins. So Nicky tried to focus on what he could do- talk to Booker. Make sure he was alright. It was better than stewing in his own anxiety and fear.

“Can’t complain too much, all things considered. I’m a sucker for romance, so thanks for that,” Booker replied. “If we get out of this my wife’s going to kill me.”

“I’ll go to your funeral,” Nicky assured him.

“Thanks, Nicky,” Booker sighed. “Pour one out for me, will you?”

“Any preferences?”

“Nah, not picky,” Booker replied, “so long as it gets the job do-“

“Mr. Merrick, we have a problem,” Keane announced from behind them.

“What now?” Merrick shouted.

“A boat was sighted off the coast- and it won’t respond to any hails,” Keane added as his radio continued to crackle on. The man on the other end mentioned a silver speed boat cutting through the water towards the island, and Nicky glanced over at Booker.

“Andy?” he mouthed. Booker shrugged, which Nicky took as a “maybe,” and his heart lifted even as they were shoved and jostled forward to join the rest of the group at the foot of the trail. Water crashed against the rocks below, the roar of the water almost deafening. And there, in the rocky outcropping, was a fissure wide enough for two people to wriggle into with a bit of effort.

“A fishing boat, maybe?” Kozak suggested breathlessly, hoisting her bag higher up on her back. “Or tourists?”

“Unlikely,” Keane replied, and he glared at Joe, then Booker, gaze completely passing over Nicky to return to Joe, the accusation clear in his eyes.

“We tried to tell you that the waters are protected,” Joe said innocently. “The RAF used the island-“

“As a bombing site, yes I know, you’ve told us a thousand times!” Merrick interrupted. “Fucking- fine! We take them with us into the cave. Post your man outside. We’re going in.”

“We need more-“ Keane said, but Merrick spoke over him.

“We don’t have time to wait!” Merrick retorted, and he gestured to the rift in the cliff. “There’s the cave, we go _now_!”

“Very well,” Keane replied. “Sir.” Nicky was sure he wasn’t the only one who heard the strain in Keane’s voice, the little note of doubt mixed with exasperation- good. They needed time, as much time as they could get, and if Merrick and his crew started fighting amongst themselves it would give the three of them a chance to escape.

“Good job, Andy,” Booker muttered as they began to walk down the wet, rocky path towards the cave entrance. “She got here faster than I thought she would.”

“Qùynh’s very efficient,” Nicky replied. “What now?”

“Get Joe, fuck them up, get out,” Booker decided. “We couldn’t have done this without you, Nicky.”

“Don’t. Not yet,” Nicky whispered as they reached the cave entrance, where another argument was already in progress. Merrick was shouting, barely audible over the sound of the surf hitting the rocks below, while Kozak was frowning and shaking her head and Joe looked like he was tempted to dive headfirst into the sea.

“-not wide enough for the equipment bag-“ Kozak yelled over the crashing waves.

“So take the essentials and we’ll dynamite the entrance once we get the permits!” Merrick shouted. “We don’t have _time_! Keane, how do we corral these three?”

“The doctor and his team go first. Then us,” Keane replied, and he shoved Nicky forward. He stumbled, catching himself and regaining his balance. Booker followed, cursing all the while. As Joe disappeared into the cave entrance Nicky glanced out toward the sea and the setting sun that set the sky ablaze. There, in the distance, he saw the flash of a silver boat speeding across the water towards them.

Help was on the way. With a deep breath Nicky ducked his head and entered the cave.

“So,” Nicky murmured once they were alone in the narrow cavern, the ocean a dull, mournful roar echoing through the tunnel. “Not my first choice for an island getaway.”

“Too many sea birds? Or are you not a fan of rock climbing?” Joe asked softly, his mouth turning up in a small, fragile smile. It’s not your fault, Nicky wanted to scream. Merrick was the one who dragged them out to Filfla, and Merrick was the one who set them up. It wasn’t Joe’s fault, and Nicky was going to tell him that over and over again until Joe finally believed it.

“I prefer a nice, sandy beach,” Nicky said instead, and Joe’s smile grew stronger.

“Yes. Much better for turtle watching,” Joe replied. “Next vacation we’ll look for sand. Just for you.”

“I look forward to it,” Nicky promised. “Watch your step.”

They continued to trudge forward, half blind in the eternal twilight of the cave, and the ground underneath turned from rock wet with saltwater and algae to a sort of sludgy mud. The cave gradually tilted downwards, and the mud gave way to icy water that splashed across his boots and swirled around his ankles. With Joe leading the way and Booker right behind, Nicky felt a good deal safer since this entire misadventure started. Whatever happened next, at least the three of them were together. At least they had a chance- three against three. Not the best odds, once he factored in the fact that they were handcuffed and Keane was armed, but better odds than before. Nicky worked at the zip-ties around his wrists, twisting at the plastic and ignoring the way it bit into his skin. He had to be subtle, he had to be careful, but if he managed to free himself, then he could work at Joe’s cuffs, maybe Booker’s as well, and then-

“Ground evens out up ahead, and the tunnel gets wider. I think there’s light further ahead as well,” Joe murmured, and as the water climbed up to his knees Nicky’s eyes adjusted to the dim light of the tunnel. The stone was weathered and covered in algae and lichen, but even with over a century of growth Nicky saw the carvings decorating the walls- crosses and suns and arrows and something that might have once been a Latin phrase but was mostly lost to time and the elements.

“D’you think the church was here?” Booker asked. Nicky turned his head and watched as Booker traced his fingertips along one wobbly cross.

“Maybe, maybe not. Any sailor looking for a safe place to ride out a storm could have hidden in this cave, carved a cross, prayed for salvation,” Joe said. “Tunnel gets wider here.” They waded into a wider chamber, the water nearly up to Nicky’s hips now. Nicky idly wondered if there were sharks in the water. Could a shark get tossed this far into the cave and survive? Could it live on the few fish that swam in these waters? Could it be lurking in the dark water, just beyond their vision, waiting for a chance, waiting for fresh meat? The chamber was large enough that Nicky couldn’t quite see the end of it. There was only the dark, the cold, and the wet.

“Creepy,” Booker muttered. “Are there any magic rings for the taking here?”

“Hurry it up, gentlemen,” Merrick yelled, his harsh voice reverberating through the cave. “We haven’t got all day!”

“Right. Onward?” Joe asked.

“Lead the way,” Nicky replied, and they moved further down the cave system and back into another narrow tunnel.

After what felt like an age but was probably only a minute, the tunnel opened up again. The light grew brighter, and the damp smell of salt water and rock was blown away by a sudden breeze as they climbed out of the water and onto solid ground. There were steps carved into the stone, slippery with algae, but they managed to climb up without any trouble. Nicky nearly collided into Joe, who stood perfectly still at the tunnel exit. Nicky peered around his broad back and shoulders to look at what lay ahead of them. He stared. And stared.

“Madre di Dio,” he breathed as he took in the aqua blue waters that reflected off the pale stone of the grotto. A large hole in the cave ceiling revealed the sky high above them. The clouds above were streaked red and pink as the sky faded from blue to purple. He knew it was only the fading sunlight and a trick of the eye, but Nicky could have sworn that the water was _glowing_.

“Good work, Doctor,” Merrick whistled appreciatively as he entered the cavern. “Looks like you and your team were the right men for the job after all. Would’ve never guessed Apollo’s spring would be _here_ , of all places! Where did you think it would be, Keane?”

“Greece,” Keane replied curtly as Dr. Kozak hastily pulled on a pair of rubber gloves and sample jars out of her windbreaker. She scurried past Nicky, muttering something about algae and bacteria as she made her way to the water’s edge. 

“It would be highly unethical, of course, but if we could test this on an injury…” Dr. Kozak said as she took several samples in different bottles, carefully corking them and scribbling labels down with a mechanical pencil.

“We’ll get there when we get there,” Merrick promised. “Preliminary tests first, yes?” As the two of them spoke to each other Keane remained alert, hands on his gun, eyes focused on Joe, on Booker, on him. Nicky tried to ignore that gaze. Focus on surviving. Qùynh and the others were coming, and the zip-tie felt close to breaking.

“So,” Joe asked softly, shuffling closer to Nicky, close enough that his warmth seeped into Nicky’s half-frozen, wet body like sunlight, “d’you think this is the spring?”

“... I don’t know,” Nicky confessed. “It certainly looks… otherworldly. But it could just be a spring.”

“Let us hope it's just a spring,” Booker added ominously, his expression bleak. 

“I have enough samples to work with,” Kozak announced as she stuck one final label on a jar and stuffed it into the pocket of her windbreaker. From there they were hastily shoved back down the cave tunnels, back into the dark, back into the cold water as Keane tried to radio his man outside. Nicky continued to fiddle with his zip tie cuffs, now they were again safely hidden in the darkness. Break the cuffs, take out Keane, steal the samples… and go from there.

“No signal,” Keane muttered as they approached the first chamber again, the water quickly rising from ankle to knee to waist as they entered the dimly lit cavern. Water dripped off the ceiling, hitting the stagnant seawater as the dull thunderous rumble of the waves pounding the rocks outside the cave filled the room. A bright light flashed at the other side of the cave.

“Merrick!” Andy shouted, her fierce, loud voice echoing through the cavern, louder than the ocean, louder than the sound of Nicky’s heart pounding in his ears. “You happen to have my friends down there, you asshole!”

For one moment all Nicky felt was utter relief. And then everything descended into chaos.

Keane fired a shot towards the light, towards Andy, and the sound bounced throughout the cave. The light dropped into the water and flickered out, and they were left in true darkness. Nicky scrambled forward blindly and went under the water. He struggled against the plastic binding his wrists together, the skin underneath raw and burning. He struggled to gain his footing in the freezing water, struggled against burning in his lungs. He pushed against the plastic, twisted- the tie broke, and Nicky rocketed out of the water and took a deep, gasping breath.

“Nicky!” Joe shouted, and he was there, just as cold and wet from stale seawater as he was, but his grip was firm and he was whole, and all Nicky could do was thank God that he hadn’t been shot. He pressed his forehead against Joe’s, reached for Joe as Joe grabbed him, and raked his fingers over Joe’s torso, checking for injuries, for a bullet hole-

“Oh God, Andy,” Nicky murmured, pulling away from Joe to frantically peer into the darkness. There was Booker, holding onto Dr. Kozak, trying to pull her windbreaker out of her hands. Keane was struggling to dislodge Qùynh, who had climbed onto his back and was choking him out, screaming something that Nicky couldn’t make out over the rush of blood and adrenaline. Nile tackled Merrick into the water, knocking the gun he held into the darkness below. They violently thrashed in the water, half hidden in the shadows and murky depths. He couldn’t see Andy. Nicky didn’t even think- he ran to help Qùynh.

“Get Nile!” he yelled at Joe, and he rammed his shoulder straight into Keane’s gut, knocking him over as he struggled against Qùynh’s hold. Nicky grabbed Qùynh’s arm and pulled her up to her feet. She was freezing, her dark eyes wild with fear, wet hair clinging to her face as she clung to him.

“Nicky, Nicky, it’s Andy,” Qùynh sobbed. “He shot Andy, we need to get her out, we don’t have time-“

“Merda,” Nicky breathed, and he finally caught sight of Andy, slumped against a wall, curled up in a ball. Her breathing was ragged, and when Nicky came close she uncurled slightly. She held her hand against her stomach, and the wetness there didn’t come from water.

“Fuck,” she groaned as Nicky pressed his hand against hers. It was sticky and warm, and Nicky wanted to vomit. Qùynh knelt in the water by Andy and gripped her free hand so tightly her knuckles went bone white.

“Andy,” Nicky murmured, and Andy turned her head to look at him, her blue eyes piercing.

“You three boys okay?” she asked, her voice tight, her teeth gritted in a pained grimace.

“We’ve… been better,” he said. “Let’s worry about you.” This would be easier to see with light- the grotto. It was closer to the grotto than outside, and- fuck, Keane! Nicky whipped around, muscles tense, and met Joe’s worried gaze as he held Keane in a headlock.

“Andy’s hurt- I can bandage her up, but we need better light,” Nicky explained quickly.

“Get her to the grotto,” Joe decided. “Booker, Nile, and I can take these three. The Maltese Coast Guard is apparently out in full force. According to Nile, at least.”

“And Interpol,” Nile piped up from behind Joe, holding onto a sodden and miserable looking Merrick. “Looks like Merrick’s been on their watchlist for a while now.”

“Right. We’ll meet you outside,” Nicky promised, and he picked Andy up and dragged her to her feet, taking on as much of her weight as she’d let him. “Qùynh?”

“I’m staying with Andy,” she said stubbornly. Nicky adjusted his grip on Andy and began trudging back to the grotto, passing by a solemn faced Booker and a furious Dr. Kozak in the process.

“-decades of potential research, wasted!” she complained as Booker hustled her past them. 

“Thank you for coming for us,” Nicky murmured as they walked. “Both of you.”

“Thanks for watching out for Book and Joe,” Andy replied shakily. “And letting us know where you were.”

It was a silent jog through the tunnel, Andy’s ragged breathing the only sound in Nicky’s ears as he led them through the cave and out into the grotto. The water was still glowing, the surface a shimmering aqua blue that reflected light off the smooth, pale limestone of the cave. The stars twinkled overhead, the red of the sky fading into the inky blue-black of night.

“Here, sit down. Let me see,” Nicky murmured, helping Andy down as Qùynh sat next to her, keeping her upright. Nicky peeled Andy’s black shirt up and over her stomach and winced at the gory mess- it could be worse, he tried to tell himself, and he reached down into the spring water to wash some of the blood away. He cupped it in his hand, marveling at the warmth of the water. Had the sea water really been so cold?

“This might sting a little,” he warned, splashing the water over Andy’s wound and dabbing at it with the hem of his shirt.

“Nicky, that probably has all sorts of bacteria in it,” Qùynh remarked as she shrugged a small bag off back and undid the zipper. She yanked out a small first aid kit and snapped the plastic lid open to hand him a bottle of antiseptic and butterfly bandages. The moment he took them she returned her attention to Andy, holding her up and brushing wet strands of hair out of her face.

“Don’t worry, Andromache,” she whispered. “I’m here. We’ll take care of you.”

“Of course you will, Qùynh,” Andy croaked. “You always have.”

“We can worry about the bacteria later,” Nicky said as he continued to wipe blood away from the wound with the water from the spring. “Merrick took my bag. With my first aid kit.”

“What, you didn’t have a spare one in your pockets?” Andy joked, her voice cracking. “Fuck, that hurts! Do you even know what you’re doing, Nicky?”

“I took a few first aid courses. It’s useful,” Nicky replied, and he sighed with relief as he wiped more blood away and saw that the cut was actually quite shallow. “Oh, good. I think the bullet just grazed you. Looked worse than it was.” With the blood mostly wiped away, Nicky saw that it was nothing but a minor wound. Still bad, of course, but not the life threatening gut injury he thought it was. This he could handle. He reached for the antiseptic and smeared some on his fingertips, dabbing it along the edges of Andy’s injury. He’d bandage her up, wrap it in gauze, and then they’d get her to a professional to treat it properly. It was going to be okay. She was going to be okay, and this was going to be over soon.

“No. No, I was shot,” Andy said slowly, and she uncurled her hand. A bullet sat in the middle of her palm, the copper casing slightly smashed on one end and covered in rapidly drying blood.

“I squeezed it out while we were walking,” she added, her voice shaking. “He shot me.” The three of them stared at the bullet, then looked out at the spring. The serene water continued to glow, the smooth surface reflecting the stars above.

“Where Death meets Life,” Nicky whispered. “The spirit of healing lies in the river born in darkness.”

“... Joe’s going to hate this. Apollo’s spring is real,” Andy said with a wry laugh, curling her fingers around the bullet that nearly killed her. “All this time, it was real!”

“I am never letting you storm a cave again,” Qùynh muttered, wrapping her arms around Andy and burying her face into her neck. “Never again.”

“No, not again,” Andy agreed, and they remained silent as Nicky taped gauze over the wound. Healing waters. Thank God Booker destroyed those samples. Thank God Filfla was so well protected. Thank God Merrick’s haste and greed were his undoing- this time. Because there would be others. There would always be others. And Filfla’s spring couldn’t be the only great ancient mystery in the world that someone would try to exploit, try to control. And like a turtle hatchling searching for the sea, for home, Nicky knew where to go.

“We need to join the others,” Nicky murmured. “Andy, can you walk?”

“Yes. If you help me,” she replied, and the three of them left Apollo’s spring for the last time.

The sun was still setting when they emerged from the cave and climbed up the trail. Joe and the others were at the trailhead, waiting for them, the sun at their backs, four shadowy figures in the distance as they hobbled up the path. There were other boats in the water by Merrick’s yacht, the silver speed boat bobbing in the waves beside several gunmetal grey boats.

“- can’t make promises, but Merrick’s not getting out of this so easily,” an unfamiliar man said, speaking to Joe. “Not much of a consolation, considering all that you’ve been through, but I hope it helps.”

“I’ll take it,” Joe replied, reaching his hand out to Nicky. Nicky took it, letting Joe pull him across the last foot or so of distance until his arm was wrapped around his shoulders and everything felt safe again. Nicky leaned against Joe and looked over his friends. Nile was soaked to the bone, but she looked utterly relieved. Booker’s cheek was bruised and he looked annoyed, but alive and well. And Joe? Looking at Joe was like staring at the sun, too bright and wonderful to behold with his eyes.

“Andy?” Joe whispered, lips pressed against the fragile shell of Nicky’s ear.

“Is alright,” Nicky murmured. “I’ll explain later.” He turned his attention to the stranger, a black man neatly dressed in a crisp navy suit and black tie. He looked so utterly out of place in this scene, in this company of mud-covered explorers, that Nicky wondered if he was a figment of his imagination brought on by stress.

“Keane missed. Mostly,” Andy said dryly as she and Qùynh approached the group. “Nicky patched me up.”

“I suppose introductions are in order,” the man said, and he offered his hand to Nicky. “James Copley. Interpol. We’ve been watching Stephen Merrick for some time now- evidently we should have watched him closer.” Nicky warily took his hand and shook it. Copley’s handshake was firm. Confident.

“Really? You don’t say,” Booker muttered. Copley lifted his eyebrows and looked pointedly at Booker, letting go of Nicky’s hand in the process. Booker rolled his eyes.

“I told you Merrick was in Malta. I told you the statue’s provenance was faked. I gave you all my proof,” Booker said. “It isn’t my fault your superiors wouldn’t listen.”

“You’re a slippery man to pin down, Mr. le Livre. My superiors are far more suspicious of you than I am,” Copley retorted. “And while Dr. al-Kaysani is more credible, he is even harder to get in contact with than you.”

“We don’t exactly advertise our work,” Joe replied. “But thank you for the rescue.”

“I should be thanking you. Stephen Merrick’s been a thorn in our sides for years now,” Copley said. “And while it may take a little time to iron things out, I believe my superiors will find that I hired Mr. le Livre to independently look into Merrick’s activities in Malta. I think they can be convinced to look the other way, just this once.”

It took a second for his words to sink in fully. Look the other way? If Copley had been watching Merrick, then surely he was watching them as well. And he was just going to let them go? Nicky couldn’t believe it. Apparently neither could Nile.

“That’s it?” Nile asked. “Really? You arrest Merrick and… it’s done?” She folded her arms across her chest and glared at Copley.

“In this one case, yes. For now,” Copley replied. “But there are always Merricks out in the world, searching for legends and destroying everything that lies in their path. If your investigation happened to uncover what he was looking for, the information would be helpful.” Andy snorted, while Qùynh laughed. It was a short, strained laugh, but it was a _real_ laugh and Nicky was glad to hear it.

“We found _a_ spring, but who is to say if it’s what Merrick was looking for?” Andy asked. “If it’s not a problem, can we go?”

“Of course. It’s been a long day for all of you. We can discuss these matters tomorrow,” Copley replied. Andy shuffled past him with Qùynh. Nile followed them along with Booker, until it was Joe, Nicky, and Copley standing at the top of the cliff, looking out at the boats and the setting sun. Far below them Nicky watched as Merrick and Keane’s men were loaded up into the grey boats.

“A shame that that statue of Apollo has gone missing,” Copley added quietly as they stared out at the sea. “I understood it was a rare archeological find. Irreplaceable, really.” 

“I believe Apollo was… temporarily misplaced,” Nicky eventually said.

“I’m sure it will show up eventually. Perhaps at another auction?” Joe suggested.

“Then I look forward to seeing it in person, when the time comes,” Copley said. “If you’ll excuse me? There are many things I’ll need to oversee before we set off.” Then he was gone, walking leisurely down the path towards the boats, and Nicky and Joe were alone.

“So, where to next?” Nicky asked as they watched the sun set over the ocean as their friends descended the rocky path.

“You… want a next?” Joe asked, caution and hope warring in his voice as he pulled Nicky closer to him. Nicky smiled and leaned his head against Joe’s shoulder.

“I picked Filfla. You pick the next place we visit,” he offered. “Unless you’ve changed your mind?”

Joe laughed, bright and loud, startling several birds that were hopping about on the rocks nearby. Nicky soon joined him, the laughter infectious until they were giggling like children, clinging to each other and reveling in the joy of being alive, and together, and having another chance to _be_ together. And soon enough Nicky’s mouth crashed against Joe’s laughing smile, and laughter gave way to kissing until he felt drunk with joy.

“Nicolò di Genova, you are a miracle,” Joe declared breathlessly when he pulled away, dark eyes overflowing with joy and love. Nicky felt like he was basking in the radiant light of the sun, like Joe saw every part of him and loved them all- it was like being blessed. Reborn. It was like coming home.

“Yusuf al-Kaysani, you are a menace,” Nicky replied. “Let’s go.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading. I apologize for the short hiatus- editing this chapter was a bit of a pain. Thanks again for sticking with this story, and I'm excited to share the epilogue next week!


	10. Epilogue

It was a sunny autumn afternoon in London, and Yusuf al-Kaysani was frustratingly, gloriously in love with the most stubborn man in existence.

“Hayati, please, five more minutes?” Joe begged, frantically sketching away, detailing Nicky’s profile with his stub of charcoal. Figure studies were always a pleasant exercise when he worked with a model as lovely and cooperative as Nicky. Not only was he handsome and an excellent conversationalist, but Nicky was somehow blessed with great patience and a talent for staying perfectly still. Most of the time.

“Pastry waits for no man, Joe,” Nicky replied swiftly, stretching and rising out of his seat with all the elegance of a cat napping in a sunbeam. “Not even a man as handsome and charming as you.” Nicky headed towards the kitchen, but he bent over and pressed a quick kiss to his forehead before he left. Joe sighed and watched Nicky’s long-legged stride. And his ass. Sculpted by gods, that ass. Or Michelangelo.

“I have never seen a man make sweatpants look good until I met you,” Joe complained. “You would make sculptors weep, Nicky.”

“I make _you_ weep every day, which is close enough,” Nicky retorted. “Help me with this?”

“I thought you had it all under control?” Joe teased, but he climbed out of his seat and made his way to the kitchen. As he washed his hands he wondered, once again, how fate had been endlessly kind to him by ensuring that he and Nicky crossed paths when they most needed each other- first at that conference in Liverpool, then at the museum, and then, finally, in Malta. Perhaps moving in together was a hastily made decision, but love and destiny were calling and they were both determined to make it work. 

Besides, everything was easy compared to Malta. The sentiment applied to all of the members of their crew, not just him and Nicky. Nile was moving forward with her career in academia and activism, eager to bring art, education, and restorative justice to the people, blazing a trail forward that was as bright as the sun. Andy and Qùynh decided to cautiously move towards a reconciliation, traveling the world together as they learned about each other all over again. Booker was taking an extended vacation to spend time with his family, the burning thirst to hit Stephen Merrick where it hurt finally satisfied with the knowledge of Merrick’s upcoming trial. The wheels of justice move slowly. Sometimes they were gummed up with money and red tape and corruption, but it seemed that finally, in Merrick’s case, he had crossed too many people to get away from this unscathed. And Nicky?

Nicky transferred to work at another archive, bringing all his meagre possessions with him to London- Callisto included, of course. He and Joe shoved themselves into Joe’s cramped apartment, making room for an entire extra bookshelf and Nicky’s disturbingly large knife collection. They could manage to live in the one bedroom loft for a while as they saved and looked for a place that was a little more suited to their needs. Somewhere with good light, a decent kitchen, and a bathroom sink that didn’t have a leaky faucet. Maybe with enough space for a little garden.

“I hardly see what I can do here,” Joe remarked, looking over the flour speckled countertop and the large lump of buttery dough that lay before them in a neat rectangle.

“Maybe I want an excuse to see your forearms,” Nicky retorted bluntly. Joe laughed and took his place next to Nicky, jostling him with his hip until the two of them were pushing against each other in a mock-battle.

“Peace, peace!” Joe eventually yelled when Nicky wrapped his arms around Joe’s waist and hoisted him up a few inches off the ground, whirling him around in a circle until he was dizzy with laughter and joy.

“You started it,” Nicky mumbled, but he loosened his grip and pressed his forehead against Joe’s, his eyes closed and expression peaceful. Shame he was going to have to ruin that peace in a few seconds.

“So,” Joe murmured. “Andy’s got a job for us in America.” He delighted in the screwed up, exasperated expression that crossed Nicky’s face, even though he kept his remarkable sea eyes closed. So many months, and Joe still struggled to find the perfect shade for those eyes. But they had time. They had plenty of time.

“Ugh,” Nicky groaned.

“Might be fun,” Joe laughed. “Where’s your sense of adventure, my dear heart?”

“Isn’t she on her honeymoon?” Nicky complained as he opened his eyes, the blue-green of his irises close to turning a stormy grey.

“I believe Andy’s calling it a ‘reunion tour,’ but yes. Pretty much. But she wants to take this job on, something about stolen pottery in a private collection,” Joe replied. “Qùynh’s apparently excited. It means going to Chicago, maybe seeing Nile’s family. We could even have an American Thanksgiving.”

“Well, when you put it that way… it would be nice to see everyone together. And I have not had an American style pie,” Nicky sighed, and he withdrew himself from Joe’s embrace. “But first. Pastry.”

“Of course, Nicky,” Joe agreed, already rolling up his sleeves over his elbows to begin working with the dough. It was nice, all of this- these quiet, domestic moments between him and Nicky, where they read books, argued over poetry (Nicky claimed that he never quite understood it, despite the fact that his soul was poetic to its core), and debated everything- and even at their most heated they tumbled into bed with the same fervor and joy that Joe had always dreamed of experiencing but never thought he’d have.

He was as busy as ever, of course, always with a project simmering away on the backburner. There were his papers, his classes, his students, and the other work. Yet Joe no longer felt pulled apart or spread thin. He had his work, he had his ideals, he had a purpose, and he had friends. And now he had Nicky, the great love and guiding light to brighten his darkest days and weariest hours with a small smile and quiet word. He looked at Nicky, at his calm expression, at the little smile on his face, looked at the way the golden autumn light reflected in his blue-green-grey eyes-

“Stay right there,” Joe ordered, stumbling over his own feet to reach for his sketchpad and the watercolor pencils he left out on the table. The light was perfect, he just needed a moment! As he scrambled for his art supplies Nicky laughed, a low, happy chuckle that lifted Joe’s spirits like a rising tide lifted a boat.

“Hurry before you lose the light!” Nicky called, and Joe’s heart felt full. As he passed by the mantle over the fireplace the sunlight gleamed on the dull, worn bronze figure of Apollo staring solemnly out over their living space. Joe smiled at it as he picked up his sketchbook and the watercolors. Apollo seemed to have been looking out for them in the end, with his mysterious healing waters and cryptic clues. Nicky had been so incredibly smug when he revealed what happened in those caves (“There _are_ Neolithic sites on Filfla, Joe, and evidence of shrines as well! The evidence indicates the island was always considered a sacred place!”). Joe was perfectly happy to admit defeat. Was it even a defeat if his punishment was to praise Nicky and his clever mind to the heavens?

“How do you feel about a trip to Malta sometime next year?” Joe asked.

“Winter might be nice,” Nicky replied. “We can escape the cold.”

“And settle some unfinished business,” Joe added as he returned to the kitchen and hopped up onto the counter. He hastily began to work with the color, trying to shade and match the way the gold brought out the misty green in Nicky’s eyes.

“We never did get a chance to watch those turtles hatch,” Nicky sighed, and he began to fold the dough and roll it out, over and over again.

“We’ll see the turtles yet,” Joe promised. They basked in the pleasure of enjoying a quiet afternoon at home, Joe sketching and Nicky baking, with a cat happily snoozing her day away in Joe’s reading chair. They enjoyed the quiet companionship as the afternoon faded into twilight. The future, their future, lay before them with all its trials and tribulations, its joys and wonders. And beyond that?

Adventure awaited.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for sticking with this story to the end. I can't believe I actually completed a NaNoWriMo project! I'm very grateful for all the comments, bookmarks, kudos, etc., and hope that you enjoyed reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it!
> 
> Thank you again.
> 
> PS- My working title for this story was "Indiana Jones and the Audacity of this Bitch (It's Me, I'm the Bitch)." Whenever I was feeling particularly hard on myself I would open up that google doc, look at the title, and giggle at the silly title. It somehow made everything easier!

**Author's Note:**

> Here's my Nanowrimo 2020 project, because I was also inspired by luminarai's [Indiana Joe AU](https://luminarai.tumblr.com/post/632775054627913728/okay-but-like-joe-being-a-reverse-indiana-jones). I'm very happy to add to the pile of excellent works based on this AU! Thank you very much for reading!


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